” He moved himself from the recliner to the couch and patted a cushion. There was, in fact, only one clear thought in his fevered brain: he had reached the hotel without falling down. Ramage, that iron-gray man of the world, appeared dressed in a bowler hat and a suit of hard gray, astride of a black horse. He moaned. Sheila’s own waif of a husband had objected to her airing the truth, he had even gotten the nerve to bring up the word divorce. The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically real for Ann Veronica. ’ ‘Don’t be too sure,’ said Miss Froxfield darkly, with a mischievous glance at her betrothed.
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