"Is this a season to speak on such a subject?" "Perhaps not," rejoined the woollen-draper; "but the uncontrollable violence of my passion must plead my excuse. But for him she might have been alive and happy. It’s one of our conventional superstitions. They all balk because there aren't any petticoats. All I can say is, it's well meant; and I may add, I'd have made it five minutes ago, if you'd given me the opportunity. The curtain came festooning slowly down, the music ceased, the lights in the auditorium glowed out, and Ann Veronica woke out of her confused dream of involuntary and commanding love in a glory of sound and colors to discover that Ramage was sitting close beside her with one hand resting lightly on her waist.
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