He could not permit her to remain in that position. He squatted and threw his arm around the backs of her knees. She entered the front hall, formerly magnificent, now faded and dusty, the old wood table waiting for guests who would never come. The young man opposite was straining his ears to listen to their conversation. “I thought we had discussed that, father. . ” She played with her hair. ” “That’s rather a fine sort of holiday!” He made no answer for three or four seconds. , and go home before you have to. From then on he was Ruth's dog. Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would always keep hidden from her, at least human love. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled.
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