It reverberated in the silence. For the present, he murmured his farewells, and turning, caught Hilary’s eye and walked away, crossing the ballroom to move into the less opulent, and less crowded, saloon next door where servants were dispensing refreshments. Satisfied in this respect, he flung himself into a chair, for his iron frame seldom required the indulgence of a bed, and sought an hour's repose before he began the villanies of another day. Something in his smile, in the cynical suggestiveness of his deferential tone, maddened her. “A young man comes into life asking how best he may place himself,” Ramage had said; “a woman comes into life thinking instinctively how best she may give herself. Supper was spaghetti and Italian sausage that night. “By Jove!” he exclaimed. They don’t count, and I don’t care.
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