Then, presto! What a dreary lot they are when the revellers lay aside the motley! Ruth had come from a far South Sea isle. And, in spite of the boy's resistance, he plunged his hands into his pockets, and drew forth the miniature. She met his eyes for a moment, and could not interpret their expression. ’ ‘Don’t start arguing again, for God’s sake,’ snapped Roding irritably, dragging out his own large pocket-handkerchief. Past her shot the little old lady in the bonnet, running incredibly fast, but otherwise still alertly respectable, and she was making a strange threatening sound as she ran, such as one would use in driving ducks out of a garden—“B-rr-r-r-r—!” and pawing with black-gloved hands. Ruth's emotion was a primitive joy: she was essential in this man's life, and she would always be happy because he would always be needing her. They sat down at the dining room table which seemed empty and 259 huge in the stark, white-walled room.
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