"Perhaps you don't know that this Darrell so contrived matters, that your child should be mistaken for his own; by which means it had a narrow escape from a tight cravat, I can assure you. Wood, you shan't lord it over me, I can promise you. 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. She ought to have written at once and told him exactly what had happened. She opened it and drew out a letter, and folded within it were the notes she had sent off to Ramage that day.
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