Ramage. Sir John followed me to London and married me. “Do you think it is fair of you to persecute me just now?” “It is not persecution, Anna,” he answered gently. All four people moved a little nervously into the drawing-room, maintaining a sort of fluttered amiability of sound and movement. Only one thing emerged with any reasonable clarity in her mind at once, and that was that unless she was saved from drowning by an unmarried man, in which case the ceremony is unavoidable, or totally destitute of under-clothing, and so driven to get a trousseau, in which hardship a trousseau would certainly be “ripping,” marriage was an experience to be strenuously evaded.
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