’ ‘Pottiswick, you mean, miss?’ ‘Yes, yes. ‘Of course it is,’ corroborated Hilary. 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. He was six blocks away from his home, a ten story building apparently made solely of glass. The door was opened for her by a weary-looking youth in a striped jacket several sizes too large for him. “It’s a nice holiday. “You frighten me!” He smiled at her indulgently. Upon my word—you are Miss Pellissier, aren’t you?” “I certainly am,” she admitted. He was leaning against a window frame, his hat in his hand. “I love you, you know.
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