“Of course,” said Miss Miniver—she went on in a regularly undulating voice —“we DO please men. He divorced her. They left the castle that day for another, packing with them the leftovers of the troupe that followed them from place to place, never asking about the occasional disappearance of one of its unlucky members. Her aunt had secretly sent on to Ann Veronica some new warm underclothing, a dozen pairs of stockings, and her last winter’s jacket, but the dear lady had overlooked those boots. Look at me. What Miss Miniver would have called the Higher Truth supervenes. I think I know where I am puzzling you now——” “Then for Heaven’s sake be merciful,” he exclaimed. She was conscious of a ceaseless undercurrent of sound—the guttural Chinese tongue. 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 was rash and ignorant, absolutely inexperienced. For yonder went the loneliest man in all God's unhappy world. May I ask the nature of your interest in her?” He hesitated.
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