He pictured himself visiting the girl in this shabby little home of her aunt’s—she had told him that it was shabby—and he recalled that delicious little smile with which she would surely greet him, a smile which seemed to be a matter of the eyes as well as the lips. "Where did you learn the song I heard just now?" he demanded, in an authoritative tone. “It is not that. ” She stopped abruptly, afraid that Ramage might be able to infer Capes from the things she had said, and indeed his face was very eager. He seemed inexorable, and inscrutable as fate itself. O'Higgins returned to town and made a night of it, nothing very wild, nothing very desperate. Living, he knew that he would never send that letter. An ugly flush stained his cheeks.
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