" "Oh, that!" He raised his head, staring at her in blank astonishment. It was Ramage, the occupant of the big house at the end of the Avenue. "Why do you ask?" rejoined the other haughtily. At last his voice came to release her tension. You Americans laugh at our custom of honouring our ancestors, our many-times great grandfathers. You know they say, as, indeed, I have just quoted already, that all bad poetry is written in a state of emotion, but I have no doubt that this is true of bad offers of marriage. Holding the lamp over her rigid but beautiful features, Jonathan, with some anxiety, placed his hand upon her breast to ascertain whether the heart still beat. ‘Comment? This is not a mirror!’ It was a portrait.
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