The same look she had often seen in the eyes of the drunken beachcombers her father had brought home, and it had not filled her with horror. His face turned a dark crimson. I needn't tell you to tread carefully. Why should they be? She and Ramage were friends, very good friends. “I have waited for this,” he said, and stood quite still, looking at her until the silence became oppressive. He leaned forward, and looked into the eyes of the woman he loved, and it seemed to him that she sang back to him with a sudden note of something like passion breaking here and there through the gay mocking words which flowed with such effortless and seductive music from her lips. It was most amusing.
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