Mrs. Who is the other?” “What other?” Her voice seemed to come from a long way off. It was a neat, efficient-looking room, with a writing-table placed with a business-like regard to the window, and a bookcase surmounted by a pig’s skull, a dissected frog in a sealed bottle, and a pile of shiny, black-covered note-books. There was a maiden aunt who lived in the North who might let her live there for a few weeks until she disappeared. I shall quit this roof to-morrow. She would always be going to and fro up the Avenue, getting glimpses of Ramage, seeing him in trains. “Miss Pellissier,” he said, “I am going to take a liberty.
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