She saw nothing of their love-making, and came home from her boarding-school in a state of decently suppressed curiosity for Alice’s wedding. “It’s still a marvel to me that we are to be forgiven,” she said, turning. If ever I did meet a man I could love, I should love him”—her voice dropped again—“platonically. Ramage. I don't know whose brainless head it may be, but it'll do for my collection. B. He is an awfully good sort— and now he has come to me to help him if I can. She started at the falling of a leaf, at the lumbering of a cow through the hedge.
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