They were delighted. No, never mind about thanking me. . These sweeping dignities were not within the compass of her will; she remembered she liked Ramage, and owed things to him, and she was interested—she was profoundly interested. He had been quite right to sit down. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. You tonic my liver and you tonic my soul. But here was a girl—she must be a girl, since she was his daughter and pat-able—imitating the woman quite remarkably and cleverly.
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