“Why not?” He asked. Then she burst into a peal of laughter. "My coat!" he repeated, his glance burning into hers. He felt her warm breath upon his cheek, the perfume of her hair as she leaned over him. “Not since 1582 when I left him and came to America. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. Try your luck with Jarvis Remenham—if you will. The hand which the man had been holding hung limp and nerveless at her side.
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