His eyebrows arched, knotting in the middle. She had denied it with vigor, and here she was! She did not so much exhaust this general question as pass from it to her insoluble individual problem again: “What am I to do?” She wanted first of all to fling the forty pounds back into Ramage’s face. Returning to Mrs Sindlesham’s chair, he held up the miniature so the face depicted there was turned towards the old lady. He was sipping a glass of cold gin and water, and smoking a short black pipe. She required no instructions from books; her wit and beauty were her own.
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