But once he had steered the lady down the hall and along a passage to a window seat at the end, he abandoned the subject of society. She knew that in her new rôle she was as likely as not to be a rank failure. It was Ramage, the occupant of the big house at the end of the Avenue. Slowly Prudence Sindlesham nodded her head, her eyes never leaving his face. The gong will go at seven-thirty. I want you beyond measure or reckoning. She warmed to him fast, her anger was much harder to carry than the pleasant everyday neutrality of affection. ‘But you,’ she said in the friendliest way imaginable, ‘are a person tout à fait sympathique, I think.
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