CHAPTER IX. “I’ve had most of the things I wanted,” said Ramage, in the stillness of the night. “I made two fruit pies and now I have no one to eat them. We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage. For a while they stood there, silent, motionless, staring at the doorway where still a few strings of the bamboo curtain swayed and twisted, agitated by the Wastrel's passage. I wasn't taught that; I simply fell into it from contact. He was in evening dress: swallow-tailed coat and white tie. She was flushed, and her eyes were bright and angry; her breath came sobbing, and her hair was all abroad in wandering strands of black.
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