He stopped, panting hard, slamming his cane to the floor to make use of its much-needed support. From one window the beach was always visible; from another, the stores. These sweeping dignities were not within the compass of her will; she remembered she liked Ramage, and owed things to him, and she was interested—she was profoundly interested. A few more minutes, and she was safe. “Are you aware, Ann Veronica, you nearly throttled that gentleman?” Then she reviled her own foolish way of putting it. “Why, among other things, did I put my knuckles in his neck—deliberately to hurt him?” She tried to sound the humorous note. He rolled on top of her, pinning her with his arms and forming a tented cage. The Supper at Mr.
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