But a middle-aged man like Ramage ought to know better than to draw out a girl, the daughter of a friend and neighbor. He had already spoken his mind on the folly of allowing a clearly dangerous female to escape a second time. She did not answer him, as she did not know what to say. “I wonder what you could do?” he said. ‘Lover’s tiff indeed. The confirmed drunkard's mouth at length sets itself peculiarly; it becomes the mark by which thoughtful men know him. Deny me, if you please. 207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name.
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