“I would like to go home,” she cried, “to please her. Ramage,” she said, “I can’t—Not now. The City worried him a good deal, and what energy he had left over he spent partly in golf, a game he treated very seriously, and partly in the practices of microscopic petrography. He would know her address to-morrow. “Look here, daddy,” she said, in a tone of great reasonableness, “I MUST go to that dance, you know. He drew a little breath of relief. Mike had suffered severe depression in his first years with the Becks, but had grown to think of them as his natural family to the degree that his past seemed like a distant memory. She moved forward almost indiscernibly, a millimeter. It feels like too much gold-dust clutched in one’s hand.
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