That dress is thirty years old, if a day. Thankfully only the children were home, so there was no one to take active notice that she had been accompanied on her way home from school. There was no such a thing as perfection in a mixed world. She would wake in the night to repeat her bitter cry: “Oh, why did I burn those notes?” It added greatly to the annoyance of the situation that she had twice seen Ramage in the Avenue since her return to the shelter of her father’s roof. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. Such was the simple code that displayed itself in all his thoughts. And now the fiend Gosse had taken even that away from her. Days later, Sebastian found her by the lake, sobbing.
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