Books! She knew now what had saved her—her mother's hand, reaching down from heaven, had set the giver's flaming eyes upon the covers of these books. ” “Perhaps I don’t. ‘The credentials, milor’,’ he ventured. She paused. She was carefree. “Of course,” she said diffidently, “this is a boarding-house, although we never take in promiscuous travellers. She had denied it with vigor, and here she was! She did not so much exhaust this general question as pass from it to her insoluble individual problem again: “What am I to do?” She wanted first of all to fling the forty pounds back into Ramage’s face. It filled her with indefinable fear.
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