She was the type that people of every age gravitated to, naturally affable and kind to everyone. “That sounds so uncouth,” she murmured. Don’t you think that the shade of my hair is lovely?” “There is nothing particular the matter with the shade,” Anna answered, “but it is not nearly so becoming as before you touched it. He recognised this object at once. He came in with his hands in his trousers pockets and a general air of depression in his bearing. Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. After a little further discourse the old man took his departure.
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