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” He dropped his eye-glass with a clatter. 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. She tried gentle words with him, beguiling perfumes, even slipped aphrodisiac tisanes into his soup. He sat down beside her and stroked her hair. ” He nodded twice, with his eyes on the fire, as though that was a formal statement. Her aunt was making herself cuffs out of little slips of insertion under the newly lit lamp. Rummage, my boy, do.
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