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"I suppose I was mistaken," returned Gay. Who knows?—on the analogy of “Squiggles” she might come to call him “Mangles!” “I don’t think I can ever marry any one,” she said, and fell suddenly into another set of considerations that perplexed her for a time. “Mom, this is the girl I asked to Prom, Lucy. He tore his gaze away, aware of the quickening of his heartbeat. ” “And mine,” murmured his companion, with the smile still lingering upon his lips. She turned about, and was persecuted by visions, half memories, half dreams, of Ramage.
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