He pulled on her shoulder, bringing her mouth to his in a kiss. Well, they’d got to the pheasants, and in a little while he would smoke. Anna made things for her. Her father was right: Ruth must never know. Why was she noting things like this? Capes seemed selfpossessed and elaborately genial and commonplace, but she knew him to be nervous by a little occasional clumsiness, by the faintest shadow of vulgarity in the urgency of his hospitality. During the narration Jack's features lighted up, and an expression, which would have been in vain looked for in repose, was instantly caught and depicted by the skilful artist.
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