“Fred,” he said, “do you remember taking me to dinner at the ‘Ambassador’s,’ one evening last September, to meet a girl who was singing there? Hamilton and Drummond and his lot were with us. The curtain came festooning slowly down, the music ceased, the lights in the auditorium glowed out, and Ann Veronica woke out of her confused dream of involuntary and commanding love in a glory of sound and colors to discover that Ramage was sitting close beside her with one hand resting lightly on her waist. I let him take me to the English Embassy, and we went through some sort of a ceremony. Gerald saw her eyes change as she recognised him. We stepped from the Embassy into the motor—and oh! I thought that he was dead. She had a vision of policemen, reproving magistrates, a crowded court, public disgrace.
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