" "I must now go and look after Thames," observed the carpenter. ” “But Italy—” “Italy’s for a good girl,” he said, and laid his hand for a moment on her shoulder. What was it she had expected? Surely her moods were getting a little out of hand. Of course, why not? She would be honest, anyhow! She turned her eyes to Manning. She would always be going to and fro up the Avenue, getting glimpses of Ramage, seeing him in trains. It’s a thing I’ve unaccountably overlooked. That is how I learned that there were such things as novels. She had suddenly become as the jewels of the Madonna, as the idol's eye, infinitely beyond his reach, sacred. Bête, she told herself fiercely. Sc.
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