Her father was holding her waist, smiling. She began at once a hasty readjustment of her hair, while Ramage parleyed with inaudible interrogations. “Do you mean in looks?” she asked. The kindly faced landlady had failed to catch his name, and said he was a tall, handsome gentleman with a great black mustache. She posed herself before her mirror and surveyed herself with gravely thoughtful, gravely critical, and yet admiring eyes. Wherein she differed but little from her young sisters. At this time of day the priest would be at his apartments in Brewer Street, a short walk away from Golden Square which the building overlooked.
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