‘I doubt it. A few minutes later she left the house on foot, and taking a hansom at the corner of the Square, drove to Anna’s flat. He declined supper, but took wine. "It is droll," he said. ‘There was a priest, the father confessor, you understand. His high brow was what caused all the ladies in town to covet him, it radiated intelligence but also something more primal. Ramage, by a hundred skilful hints had led her to realize that the problem of her own life was inseparably associated with, and indeed only one special case of, the problems of any woman’s life, and that the problem of a woman’s life is love. "What a wonderful colour!" she exclaimed.
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