It was not due to shyness: it was the inherent instinct of the Woman, a protective fear that she must retain some elements of mystery in order to hold the interest of the male. They reached Wimbledon, and Ramage whipped out to hand Miss Stanley to the platform as though she had been a duchess, and she descended as though such attentions from middle-aged, but still gallant, merchants were a matter of course. Now, in her old place, she was doing her best thoroughly to enjoy a most indifferent dinner. "His name, I say!—his name!" thundered the knight. She came to me in a dream. Joan told me it was hung somewhere in the house, only I couldn’t remember where after all this time.
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