She did not understand the note of hostility to men that ran through it all, the bitter vindictiveness that lit Miss Miniver’s cheeks and eyes, the sense of some at last insupportable wrong slowly accumulated. She had not seen Ramage for ten or eleven days, and she was quite ready for a gossip with him. She looked into his eyes, truly noticing their gray color for the first time. ‘Good God! Everett Charvill, as I live. From long experience with both races he had acquired definitions, but none snugly applied to this girl. I don’t want you to talk to me now. Only I wish—I wish to-day I was a thousand times, ten thousand times more beautiful. But perhaps if people didn’t like clear, bright, healthy eyes—which is biologically understandable—they couldn’t like precious stones. She shook her head. “Does he ever ask about me?” She asked, feeling like a cuckolded old maid. Somehow or other his reputation as a hardened and unassailable bachelor had won for him during the last few years a comparative immunity from attentions on the part of those women with whom he had been brought into contact.
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