These sweeping dignities were not within the compass of her will; she remembered she liked Ramage, and owed things to him, and she was interested—she was profoundly interested. The wine was sweetened with cinnamon and cloves and rare edible flowers, which her father had instructed her not to drink excessively of. “I wonder,” he said, and went off at a tangent. . “It’s a matter of feeling with me. And I suppose it is too much to expect that any entirely English young lady would be prepared to tolerate me for the remainder of my life. “You poor little girl!” he cried. He was speechless. “Nigel, Nigel,” she cried.
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