No; the future was not so dark; there was a bit of dawn visible. She dressed rapidly and left the theatre without a word to any one. “Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image. None saw, though all felt, his presence, and heard the thunder of his voice. She hated living like that. “I thought you wanted to have a talk to me,” she said. She would wake in the night to repeat her bitter cry: “Oh, why did I burn those notes?” It added greatly to the annoyance of the situation that she had twice seen Ramage in the Avenue since her return to the shelter of her father’s roof.
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