Ramage controlled his expression and thought very quickly. Now I know that you don’t live as close to the Beck house as you once pretended. “And so you have been thinking?” her father began, quoting her letter and looking over his slanting glasses at her. ” He adjusted his glasses on his nose. The one profession, the one decent profession, I mean, for a woman—except the stage— is teaching, and there we trample on one another. He worked afternoons, when everybody else went to sleep; he worked at night under a heat-giving light, with insects buzzing and dropping about, with a blue haze of tobacco smoke that tried to get out and could not. She seemed to think he was merely the paymaster, handing over the means of her freedom. “It’s—private. There are times when you make me feel a little thing at your feet—a young, silly, protected thing.
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