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Ennison listened, and he forgot where he was. She stopped abruptly at the sound of his voice, and lost the thread of what she was saying. “Anything is better than this—this stifled life down here. She approached Ruth with open arms; and something in the way the child came into that kindly embrace hurt the older woman to the point of tears. “That is very nice of you,” she said. Then she glanced at the cards again, over which her aunt’s many-ringed hand played, and then at the rather weak, rather plump face that surveyed its operations. “Yet it is my last evening, and I think —if you are sure that you would like to have me—that I will risk it. ‘Read that,’ and threw the telegram at me, so that it went into the tureen. I could not dream of loving you. If she had any idea at all, it was something she dimly recalled from her books: something celestially beautiful, with a happy ending. In Singapore that had been her only dissipation: a dozen pairs of silk stockings. Something about the girl had suggested an idea. And, though neither peace nor innocence can be restored to my bosom; though tears cannot blot out my offences, nor sorrow drown my shame; yet, knowing that my penitence is sincere, I do not despair that my transgressions may be forgiven. I won’t try. Someone, it appeared, was trying to profit from that fact.
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