Oh, what’s his name? It’s on the tip of my tongue. 1. Ramage. Ann Veronica found herself walking back down the Avenue that had just been the scene of her first proposal beside her aunt, and speculating for the first time in her life about that lady’s mental attitudes. The elastic spirits of youth resumed their sway; and, before the coach stopped, his tears had ceased to flow. Her figure, though slight, had all the fulness of health; and her complexion—still pale, but without its former sickly cast,—contrasted agreeably, by its extreme fairness, with the dark brows and darker lashes that shaded eyes which, if they had lost some of their original brilliancy, had gained infinitely more in the soft and chastened lustre that replaced it. The sun was setting in spectacular multicolored streams beyond Whitefield Park. “You may go on with that work,” he said, “so long as you keep in harmony with things at home. “It isn’t fair. Just a formal marriage.
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