Ramage,” she said, “please don’t talk like this. ” She fought to keep her teeth from chattering. Believe me, the bitterness of it has almost departed, crushed out of me together with much of the weariness and sorrow I brought with me here by the nameless glory of these lonely months. Will you?” She thought, and it seemed to him she had never looked so self-disciplined and deliberate and beautiful. She further suspected that he might find a servant to dally with in the meantime, if he had not already. He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is.
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