"Are you his ghost, then?" "No—no," answered Jack. Ramage went up the Avenue, and she hurried along the path with a beating heart and a disagreeable sense of unsolved problems in her mind. At length the task was done, and she jabbed the needle into a cushion, folded the coat, and rose. Melusine ripped strips off her under-petticoats and fashioned a pad, which she bandaged as tightly as she could over the wound, working swiftly, unperturbed by the gore. What was the fellow about? Was he being imposed upon? He watched as the man Valade turned back, spreading his hands in the French way.
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