“I suppose,” said her father, “I have read at least half the novels that have been at all successful during the last twenty years. I could not become an Oracle. “He must never know,” she would whisper to herself, “he must never know. Wild. The significance of the kiss was still obscure to her, though she had frequently encountered the word and act in the Old and New Testaments and latterly in novels. “Come with me. ” Presently, as if for comparison with her father’s letter, she got out Ramage’s check from the box that contained her papers. Wood then led the way up a rather high and, according to modern notions, incommodious flight of steps, and introduced his guest to a neat parlour, the windows of which were darkened by pots of flowers and creepers. I have always hated it.
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