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"Ritter's!" said Ramage to the driver, "Dean Street."
It was rare that Ann Veronica used hansoms, and to be in one was
itself eventful and exhilarating. She liked the high, easy swing
of the thing over its big wheels, the quick clatter-patter of the
horse, the passage of the teeming streets. She admitted her
pleasure to Ramage.
And Ritter's, too, was very amusing and foreign and discreet; a
little rambling room with a number of small tables, with red
electric light shades and flowers. It was an overcast day,
albeit not foggy, and the electric light shades glowed warmly,
and an Italian waiter with insufficient English took Ramage's
orders, and waited with an appearance of affection. Ann Veronica
thought the whole affair rather jolly. Ritter sold better food
than most of his compatriots, and cooked it better, and Ramage,
with a fine perception of a feminine palate, ordered Vero Capri.
It was, Ann Veronica felt, as a sip or so of that remarkable
blend warmed her blood, just the sort of thing that her aunt
would not approve, to be lunching thus, tete-a-tete with a man;
and yet at the same time it was a perfectly innocent as well as
agreeable proceeding.
They talked across their meal in an easy and friendly manner
about Ann Veronica's affairs. He was really very bright and
clever, with a sort of conversational boldness that was just
within the limits of permissible daring. She described the
Goopes and the Fabians to him, and gave him a sketch of her
landlady; and he talked in the most liberal and entertaining way
of a modern young woman's outlook. He seemed to know a great
deal about life. He gave glimpses of possibilities. He roused
curiosities. He contrasted wonderfully with the empty
showing-off of Teddy. His friendship seemed a thing worth
having. . . .
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