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“The Chens must already be here. ‘What?’ ‘Nothing,’ snapped Roding, with an odd look at his bride to be that Gerald could not interpret. I have seen many of them. She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. He returned, blue towel in hand. A glance down the passage—to see that Roding was not lurking?—and her face came back to Gerald, triumph in her eyes. You do not believe me. He might have supposed the fellow would be eager to be rid of the tale, for that he might have longer to enjoy the amenities of the Triumphal Chariot where the meeting had been appointed. And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account. It was a pity people had to eat food. Then, one night, he glanced up to behold Ruth and Rollo in the doorway.
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