Most of them didn’t, anyhow. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise. Ramage pursed his rather loose lips and shrugged his shoulders, with his eyes fixed steadily upon her. "Do you realize that you are several kinds of a damned scoundrel?" he began. Something forbade him to draw her toward him and seal the compact with a kiss. He was always doing his best to call her attention to the fact that he was a man of spirit and quality and experience, and she a young and beautiful woman, and that all sorts of constructions upon their relationship were possible, trusting her to go on from that to the idea that all sorts of relationships were possible.
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