“I admired your sister in Paris,” he answered, “but I do not believe that I regard her now as altogether the same person. Ramage, that iron-gray man of the world, appeared dressed in a bowler hat and a suit of hard gray, astride of a black horse. Suppose her father turned her out of doors! She did not care, she meant to go. I want to be very plain with you. But suppose I go?” “Now, Veronica! No, no. At last, a little way to the northward of Euston Road, the moral cloud seemed to lift, the moral atmosphere to change; clean blinds appeared in the windows, clean doorsteps before the doors, a different appeal in the neatly placed cards bearing the word ————————————— | APARTMENTS ————————————— | in the clear bright windows. Except for one memorable school excursion to Paris, Ann Veronica had never yet been outside England.
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