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. As for loving you, I do. ‘Dare I suppose that to be of her making?’ Gerald flushed. Presently he began to weave a tale, sorry enough, with all the ancient claptraps and rusted platitudes. ’ ‘I’ve a good mind to leave the pair of you to it and take myself off,’ threatened his junior, marching across the room and snatching up a decanter. But calmer thoughts quickly succeeded. I speak no harm of her. There was nothing left now of the selfassured, prosperous man of affairs.
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