I guess they were bad all the time. She would wake in the night to repeat her bitter cry: “Oh, why did I burn those notes?” It added greatly to the annoyance of the situation that she had twice seen Ramage in the Avenue since her return to the shelter of her father’s roof. What our dear mother would say back home I dread to think. At length he proceeded toward McClintock's bungalow, drawn by the lights and the sound of music. He came to her and stood before her, waiting, the morning light dazzling his eyes. Never for a moment had violence come between these two since long ago he had, in spite of her mother’s protest in the background, carried her kicking and squalling to the nursery for some forgotten crime. ‘Of course the fellow has doubtless stayed put to wait for you,’ retorted Hilary.
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