Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. “It’s jolly,” he said, “to feel you have come to me. . Do you think that I shall ever make an actress, my friend?” “I doubt it,” he answered bluntly. There was only one sound—the fall of the sea upon the main beach, and even that said: "Hush! Hush! Hus-s-sh!" Not a leaf stirred, not a shadow moved. I can’t help you a cent.
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