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It did seem in so many ways exactly what Ramage said it was—the sensible thing to do. The jolly part of it was that for the first time in her life so far as London was concerned, she was not going anywhere in particular; for the first time in her life it seemed to her she was taking London in. “I’m going to kill your weakness for you. "Why, first," rejoined Austin, "there's Sir James Thornhill, historical painter to his Majesty, and the greatest artist of the day. ‘Oh, I do love a flatterer. They walked in silence. She tossed her head, and, having no further words, moved toward the door. Did he talk a little when you took him into the city?" "No. Brendon and I are great chums,” he went on nervously. But heavens, I must pack!” She sprang to her feet and disappeared in the room beyond, from which she emerged a few minutes later with flushed cheeks and dishevelled hair. ‘Who have lately joined us,’ she said, adding sotto voce, ‘A very great tragedy. I will never wed you.
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