CHAPTER XVI. Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in the King's service. But at last this ordeal was over, and Ramage opened the door. I have always hated it. She fought the inclination for a while, then surrendered. We always go out to dinner on holidays. A young man, who had been spending the last hour walking up and down on the opposite side of the way, came quickly over to her.
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