“Have you ever been to the opera, Ann Veronica?” said Ramage. The clouds were nearly black with rain, threatening to spill sleet in daggers and torrents. A man's laced hat,—whether adopted from the caprice of the moment, or habitually worn, we are unable to state,—cocked knowingly on her head, harmonized with her masculine appearance. A short flight of steps brought him to a dark passage, into which he plunged. If you had any idea what depths people have sunken to as you reside safely in this high fortress, you would search your soul to find the mote of charity left there. “Please let me drive you home.
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