She found she was trembling at his nearness and full of a thrilling dread that he might touch her. The conceit of Howard Spurlock in imagining he knew what mental suffering was! But Enschede was right: Ruth must never know. Ramage,” she said, sharply, “I have to make it plain to you. This unexpected interpolation might spoil the efficacy of all that had gone before. It was cheating, pitiful cheating. It was most amusing. She saw herself building up a life upon that —a life restrained, kindly, beautiful, a little pathetic and altogether dignified; a life of great disciplines and suppressions and extensive reserves. At the recollection that it was his, she seemed to fall through a thin surface, as one might fall through the crust of a lava into glowing depths. ’ ‘Don’t you dare. The Closing Scene. Bravo!—the best cly-faker of 'em all couldn't have done it better. The perception of him flooded her being. How perfectly charming. And in the vestry was the sword of monsieur le major.
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