Ann Veronica paused the fraction of a second before her reply came.

“I thought much of it amazingly beautiful.”

“Isn’t it.  And to think that man got it all out of the poorest little love-story for a respectable titled lady!  Have you read of it?”

“Never.”

“It gives in a nutshell the miracle of art and the imagination.  You get this queer irascible musician quite impossibly and unfortunately in love with a wealthy patroness, and then out of his brain comes this, a tapestry of glorious music, setting out love to lovers, lovers who love in spite of all that is wise and respectable and right.”

Ann Veronica thought.  She did not want to seem to shrink from conversation, but all sorts of odd questions were running through her mind.  “I wonder why people in love are so defiant, so careless of other considerations?”

“The very hares grow brave.  I suppose because it is the chief thing in life.”  He stopped and said earnestly:  “It is the chief thing in life, and everything else goes down before it.  Everything, my dear, everything!...  But we have got to talk upon indifferent themes until we have done with this blond young gentleman from Bavaria....”

The dinner came to an end at last, and the whiskered waiter presented his bill and evacuated the apartment and closed the door behind him with an almost ostentatious discretion.  Ramage stood up, and suddenly turned the key in the door in an off-hand manner.  “Now,” he said, “no one can blunder in upon us.  We are alone and we can say and do what we please.  We two.”  He stood still, looking at her.

Ann Veronica tried to seem absolutely unconcerned.  The turning of the key startled her, but she did not see how she could make an objection.  She felt she had stepped into a world of unknown usages.

“I have waited for this,” he said, and stood quite still, looking at her until the silence became oppressive.

“Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint.  Suddenly she had become afraid.  She struggled not to be afraid.  After all, what could happen?

He was looking at her very hard and earnestly.  “Ann Veronica,” he said.

Then before she could say a word to arrest him he was at her side.  “Don’t!” she said, weakly, as he had bent down and put one arm about her and seized her hands with his disengaged hand and kissed her—­kissed her almost upon her lips.  He seemed to do ten things before she could think to do one, to leap upon her and take possession.

Ann Veronica’s universe, which had never been altogether so respectful to her as she could have wished, gave a shout and whirled head over heels.  Everything in the world had changed for her.  If hate could kill, Ramage would have been killed by a flash of hate.  “Mr. Ramage!” she cried, and struggled to her feet.

“My darling!” he said, clasping her resolutely in his arms, “my dearest!”