CHAPTER XIV. “That sounds so uncouth,” she murmured. “It was,” she admitted. At last, a little way to the northward of Euston Road, the moral cloud seemed to lift, the moral atmosphere to change; clean blinds appeared in the windows, clean doorsteps before the doors, a different appeal in the neatly placed cards bearing the word ————————————— | APARTMENTS ————————————— | in the clear bright windows. And yet—Wait a little, you’d better have every bit of it. ” Michelle said. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. This formality irked her: she wanted to play a little, romp. Not a breath was drawn. It had been a part of the vast domain of the servants in the house’s earlier incarnation.
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