“Concern me!” she repeated fiercely. In his way he was critical. “Women know these things by instinct,” she answered. “Please stop fighting me. “Garçon,” he said, “will you ask the gentleman at the next table if he will do me the honour of taking a glass of wine with me. "'Tis a cruel thing you've done, lad. “Call it warning, if you like. I’d take it— forgive me if I seem a little urgent—as a sort of proof of friendliness. She would always be going to and fro up the Avenue, getting glimpses of Ramage, seeing him in trains. It got on my nerves—the women I saw.
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