She would never love him as she loved Capes, of course, but there are grades and qualities of love. Anna, my love, you cannot have forgotten so soon. At last—I told a story. Whenever McClintock had guests, he loafed with them on the west veranda in the morning. The curtain came festooning slowly down, the music ceased, the lights in the auditorium glowed out, and Ann Veronica woke out of her confused dream of involuntary and commanding love in a glory of sound and colors to discover that Ramage was sitting close beside her with one hand resting lightly on her waist.
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