‘Sleeping like a baby, he is. I am apparently a beast, a pig and an imbecile, too, if memory serves me. While the cloth was laid, the host and Thames descended to the cellar, whence they returned, laden with a number of flasks of the same form, and apparently destined to the same use as those depicted in Hogarth's delectable print—the Modern Midnight Conversation. ‘Why did you bring him? I hate him. He would get very cross one evening and no one would dare to remind him of it. Both the fugitive and his chasers embarked on the Thames. I have often felt before that it is only when one has nothing to say that one can write easy poetry. The curtain came festooning slowly down, the music ceased, the lights in the auditorium glowed out, and Ann Veronica woke out of her confused dream of involuntary and commanding love in a glory of sound and colors to discover that Ramage was sitting close beside her with one hand resting lightly on her waist. His hand shook so violently that he dropped the handkerchief; and he let it lie on the floor because he dared not stoop.
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