She wondered what the problem was, why the buildup? She wanted to go to his apartment that evening but stayed herself. “I hope you realize,” he went on, in a lower and less assured tone, “that I am in earnest—very much in earnest. He stood up and she ushered him out of the small room. There were neither texts nor rubbish on the walls, but only a stirring version of Belshazzar’s feast, a steel engraving in the early Victorian manner that had some satisfactory blacks. The carpet was a quiet drugget and not excessively worn, and the bed in the corner was covered by a white quilt. She did not therefore reveal to him that he had guaged her with accuracy. ” She was altogether hysterical now. Love…. I wish some one would kill Ramage by accident!.
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