‘Would it so? What sort of a girl is she, then?’ ‘She’s a consummate devil,’ Gerald declared roundly. He mumbled an apology and then stopped short. It was as if Grace-church Street, with all its shops, its magazines, and ceaseless throng of passengers, were stretched from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore. "'Sblood!" cried Jonathan, who had listened to the foregoing conversation with angry wonder, "I've been nicely done here. So completely! The oddest fitness! What is it made of? Texture of skin and texture of mind? Complexion and voice. Ramage, that iron-gray man of the world, appeared dressed in a bowler hat and a suit of hard gray, astride of a black horse. The entire city seemed to exist for beauty and art alone. But the Yale spirit!" Ah Cum laughed.
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