The tall, blond boys, right?” “That’s them. “When did you start?” She said between puffs. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. There was only one small grated window in this hold, which admitted but little light. In one grave, mind. These dinners, from their lavish display of ambiguous hors d’oeuvre to their skimpy ices in dishes of frilled paper, with their Chianti flasks and Parmesan dishes and their polyglot waiters and polyglot clientele, were very funny and bright; and she really liked Ramage, and valued his help and advice. ” “I have a clue, at any rate,” he remarked, smiling. But here’s what is different this time. “I don’t know, John.
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