“Oh my God, what if she’s dead?” More giggling. She was sorry to find Ramage a little disposed to be melancholy. The young fellow was almost as odd in his way as the girl was in hers. And now she was discovering that even Nature was something of a liar, with her mirages and her horizons. As Leonardo had himself pronounced, who better than a mountebank to teach of the perils awaiting the unwary? Who better than a wastrel to demonstrate the worth of thrift? And who could instruct better in the matter of affections than one who had thrown them away? ‘If he had loved me,’ she said, in the flat tone she had learned to use to conceal her vulnerable heart, ‘he would have left me at Remenham House to live a life of an English lady. All human food tasted equally dead and loathsome to her, whether it was prime steak or cheap hamburger.
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