She turned about, and was persecuted by visions, half memories, half dreams, of Ramage. Slowly and reluctantly she came to realize that Vivie Warren was what is called an “ideal. . “Is that not rather a profitless speculation, my friend?” He seemed deaf to her interruption. “Anyway, enough about that. She could not make up her mind which was the finer, more elemental thing, which gave its values to the other. He wanted to put on his overcoat and come after you and look for you—in London. Her concluding paragraph was, on the whole, perhaps, hardly starchy enough. Then, mysteriously, he no longer smelled or tasted it. He made her tell him the core of the difficulty. ” She saw him flinch, but he gave no sign of it in his tone.
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