"Who knows but this key may open a golden lock one of these days?" And, picking it up, he thrust it into his pocket. It was time to disappear, no more Becks, no more Spaghetti Nights, no more afternoon kisses in the park with John Diedermayer. The twists in his brain had suddenly straightened out; he was normal, wholly himself; and he knew now exactly what he had done. One of her duties, after she had been taught to read, had been to read aloud after breakfast and before going to bed. Ramage demurred. “Splendid you are looking to-day, Miss Stanley,” he said.
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