Thames did not try to cheer her. It was about twelve feet high, nine wide, and fourteen long; and was approached by double doors each six inches thick. She could feel teenage girls from all corners of the room tensing, preparing to shriek. She worried for her father in Mantua, 28 hoping that he was still alive. Then it came to her with a shock, as an extraordinary oversight, that she could never tell Manning about Ramage—never. She felt the warm nearness of his. Also she remembered very vividly the smell of orange blossom, and Alice, drooping and spiritless, mumbling responses, facing Doctor Ralph, while the Rev. “NO!” she said, at last, with something in her voice that reminded Ann Veronica of a sprung tennis-racket. Read that letter, Thames—my lord marquis, I mean.
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