Who was he to tread on her dreams? She had heroworshipped an unscrupulous adventurer, who had not hesitated to impose on her youth and her ignorance. ‘Don’t involve me in your lover’s tiff. Her hair was of the darkest brown, and finest texture; and, when unloosed, hung down to her heels. It probably still wouldn’t help. All these circumstances,—slight in themselves, but powerful in their effect,—touched the heart of the widowed carpenter, and added to his depression. Gianfrancesco ran from the room, tearing at his hair. A man might be without relatives, but certainly he would not be without friends, that is to say, without letters. “Well!” she declared good-humouredly. ‘Pen and paper, do you have them?’ ‘Danged if I have,’ came the truculent response. “All right?” asked the man with the light eyelashes, suddenly appearing in the doorway. At the bottom of her heart she was not a bit afraid of Ramage.
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