It became suddenly glaringly apparent to her that it was impossible to return fifteen pounds or any sum less than twenty pounds to Ramage—absolutely impossible. “That’s HIM,” said Ann Veronica, in sound, idiomatic English. She would be in the library, her favorite place, or on the bench by the colored glass window with her embroidery. The little spot of rouge was vivid enough now by reason of this new pallor, which seemed to draw the colour even from her lips. There was no keeping Sheila from the truth, and it was better that anyone who lived under her roof knew it. It was Blueskin.
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