His lovely black eyes softened until they became like languid as the night sky. Her confession was still unmade. Though he walked by the side of the governor, he seldom exchanged a word with him, but appeared wholly absorbed in the contemplations inspired by a broadbowled Dutch pipe. She turned about, and was persecuted by visions, half memories, half dreams, of Ramage. Of the vast mass of these impressions Ann Veronica could make nothing at the time; there they were—Fact! She stored them away in a mind naturally retentive, as a squirrel stores away nuts, for further digestion. “Well,” he said slowly, “I had met you three times—before Drummond’s dinner. Not so bad.
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