" "Wood's daughter, I suppose?" observed the other. That boy—blind as a bat! Why, he hadn't seen the Woman until to-night! From the first chord of the Grieg concerto to the finale of the Chopin ballade, Ruth had sat tensely on the edge of her chair. "Your hesitation convinces me he does," replied the widow. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. CHAPTER XXIII Next morning Ruth did not refer to the episode on the sands of the lagoon. You would be alarmed of how sulphurous it is, how sickeningly sweet. My very sentences stumble and give way. ‘But how do you come here?’ ‘Down on a routine patrol, unluckily for you,’ he answered grimly. You mustn't go dressing up Tom, Dick, and Harry in Henry Esmond's ruffles.
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