” “But waive that point. There was question in Gerald’s gaze as it met hers, and apology in his voice. ’ ‘Then you will not be disappointed. His glance swept up again and found her staring at him with much of her usual defiance, if a touch less of her customary assurance. To be sure, Ruth had dimly been aware of this; but now for the first time she was made painfully conscious of it. To the Seven Cities of Refuge Jack proceeded. Widgett was a journalist and art critic, addicted to a greenish-gray tweed suit and “art” brown ties; he smoked corncob pipes in the Avenue on Sunday morning, travelled third class to London by unusual trains, and openly despised golf. Ought she to walk into some of these places and tell them what she could do? She hesitated at the window of a shipping-office in Cockspur Street and at the Army and Navy Stores, but decided that perhaps there would be some special and customary hour, and that it would be better for her to find this out before she made her attempt. ” “That doesn’t explain sunsets.
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