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“Quite alone, sir. ‘Do not think—’ he panted, ‘that I am finished—with you, mademoiselle. Or else he was indeed obsessed. And a custom had grown up of a general tea at four o’clock, under the auspices of a Miss Garvice, a tall and graceful girl of distinguished intellectual incompetence, in whom the hostess instinct seemed to be abnormally developed. She seemed to assume that it must certainly be something she had said. Ramage, that iron-gray man of the world, appeared dressed in a bowler hat and a suit of hard gray, astride of a black horse.
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