He was struck disagreeably by Ramage’s air of gallant consideration and Ann Veronica’s self-possessed answers. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. She slid her cheek down the tweed sleeve of his coat. He knew me, Nigel. ” He fumed. “You are very kind to think of it,” she said, “but—don’t you think perhaps—that I had better not?” He smiled indulgently. ‘And take you this sword.
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