"Jack!" she cried, raising her head. "Where is he?" asked she, in an agitated whisper. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. So presently they got into a hansom together, and Ann Veronica sat back feeling very luxurious and pleasant, and looked at the light and stir and misty glitter of the street traffic from under slightly drooping eyelids, while Ramage sat closer to her than he need have done, and glanced ever and again at her face, and made to speak and said nothing. I'll keep a look out that nothing happens. To-morrow they will all be contradicted.
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