" "Loves!" echoed Winifred, slightly colouring. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. I did not know how he would act if I obstructed him. She had denied it with vigor, and here she was! She did not so much exhaust this general question as pass from it to her insoluble individual problem again: “What am I to do?” She wanted first of all to fling the forty pounds back into Ramage’s face. The thought of them distressed her without subtracting at all from the oceans of happiness in which she swam. Why should she? she asked rebelliously. " McClintock without further speech strode toward his bungalow; and half an hour later Spurlock, passing, heard the piano-tuning key at work.
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