She noticed right away that Sheila was a two-sided coin. He was not addicted to monologue, and the only audible comment he permitted himself at first upon a universe that was evidently anything but satisfactory to him that afternoon, was one compact and entirely unassigned “Damn!” The word must have had some gratifying quality, because he repeated it. Her aunt arrived about halfpast ten, in black and with an unusually thick spotted veil. 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. . Racing, he reached it perhaps a moment or two later. “Nobody understands them, of course, but we all look as though we did.
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