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Ann Veronica forgot him as soon as she was through the gate, and her face resumed its expression of stern preoccupation. The lady whose husband had been Mayor of Hartlepool looked at Anna and sniffed. Perhaps Ramage was the more astonished. He sat back in an easy chair with a hand upon each of the elbows, and looked steadfastly into the fire. He did not like it. We can’t be lovers in the ordinary sense, but we can be great and intimate friends. They are things faint and slight in themselves, as physical facts, but they are like the detonator of a bomb: they let loose the explosive. “I didn’t think you’d come. .
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