“I don’t see what he has to do with my coming to London?” “He—he worships the ground you tread on. Moving swiftly to the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door at random and entered a large room, which looked to have been a saloon, judging from the faded gilt and crimson wall-paper, a mirror above the fireplace which was surrounded by an ornate gilded frame, now sadly tarnished, and a worn Chippendale sofa with striped upholstery and tasselled cushions. She began at once a hasty readjustment of her hair, while Ramage parleyed with inaudible interrogations.
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