There was nothing on her face to hint of the misery that brimmed her heart this morning. 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. “Why—it’s—it’s you!” Amazement seemed to dry up the torrents of his speech. “Were you ever in love, aunt?” she asked. “You have not seen your sister lately,” he remarked.
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