Not if I read her aright. It was evident the lady’s servant knew his mistress, for he had come equipped with a tray upon which reposed a decanter and two glasses. If ever the denouement came—if ever the Hand reached him—Ruth would then understand why he had rebuffed all her tender advances. The easel and palette having been packed up, and the canvass carefully removed by Austin, the party took leave of the prisoner, who was so much abstracted that he scarcely noticed their departure. His head turned sideways towards the noise, his brows scowling. To think of him as loving her would make all that different. To dream and to labour: to you, my labour; to Ruth, my dreams. Some of the delicate colour which the afternoon walk had brought into her cheeks had already returned.
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