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Ramage,” she said, “I can’t—Not now. “You can say what you have to say before Mr. I will be very well without him. He grabbed her hair viciously and whispered loudly into her tear-streaked face. She drew up a chair and sat down, putting her palm on the damp, cold forehead. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. “You know,” he muttered, “you know quite well that your troubles are far more likely to weigh upon me than my own. You will be my witness, Madame Joan. “Do not force me to take you seriously,” she continued. “Never heard anything of it. What you’re after is too risky.
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