"Won't you take these?" For a space he merely stared at her, perhaps wondering if she were real. The crowner's 'quest sat on her yesterday—and if she hadn't been proved out of her mind, she would have been buried at four lane-ends. Upon a table, where they had been hastily deposited, on the intelligence of Darrell's accident, lay a pair of pink kid gloves, bordered with lace, and an enormous fan; the latter, when opened, represented the metamorphosis and death of Actæon. For a long time he remained standing before the fire, staring at the situation. Ramage,” she cried, “you are outrageous! You understand nothing. And think things out.
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