She had time in the afternoons to do crewelwork and embroidery, no longer occupied by the constant spinning of wool. “I wonder,” she murmured to herself, “if this is the beginning. Ramage went up the Avenue, and she hurried along the path with a beating heart and a disagreeable sense of unsolved problems in her mind. ‘They cannot be worse than mine in English, monsieur. “He’s got good taste, you know. But she was not sure just how to reach it. Her father had determined on a new line. After he was gone in the morning, Ruth would steal into the study and hurriedly read what he had written the previous night.
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