And when they got to Covent Garden Ramage secured one of the little upper boxes, and they came into it as the overture began. “But your hair,” he gasped. There followed a silence which endured several minutes; or, rather a tableau. The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes.
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