She felt he was going to say something more—something still more personal and intimate. She backed away, amazed as the thing buzzed loudly in the center of the room. Wild's name. He saw it in book-covers, on the stage. He perceived, however, that both the novels he read and the world he lived in discountenanced these assumptions. Only a book detective could dope this out. Thankfully, he seemed pleased the moment he saw her face, which her mother had made her wash for weeks with the pulp of apples, orange water, and 21 extract of borage among other things. Ruth?" "Why the devil not? Why do you suppose she married you if she didn't love you? While you read I watched her face. Paris was full, and it was by no means a retired spot which she had found. He understood now that it was a part of her inheritance. It was a spring-tide at half ebb; and the current, which was running fast and furiously, bore him instantly away.
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