She hoped that he would at long last remember his young male pride. He succeeded so well that by the time he asked for her name once more, she fluttered her lashes as coquettishly as ever. Pramlay received them in the pretty chintz drawing-room, which opened by French windows on the trim garden, with its croquet lawn, its tennis-net in the middle distance, and its remote rose alley lined with smart dahlias and flaming sunflowers. “Want to see the computer?” He asked eagerly. When she awoke from a pleasant dream an hour later, she was shocked to find herself restrained in a bed that was not hers and not the inn’s.
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