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. She went on from street to street, and all the glory of London had departed. “He’s got good taste, you know. I am Lucilla Froxfield, you must know. He, for his part, was trying to grasp the series of unexpected reactions that had so wrecked their tete-a-tete. ” He stared in amazement at this new aspect of the situation.
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