But she was disturbed, mysteriously disturbed. The chamber, into which he stole, like all carpenters' workshops, was crowded with the implements and materials of that ancient and honourable art. In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster. You Ann Veronica?” “Rather! I say—did you marry Gwen?” “Yes. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. Profoundly. It’s no good flying out at that, Vee; I didn’t arrange it. Let me recommend a glass of wine. The house will be well rid of him, for a more idle, good-for-nothing reprobate never crossed its threshold. The girl who had just left the room was as great a mystery to him now as on the afternoon when he had met her in Piccadilly and taken her to tea. But I vowed that Ruth should never suffer the way I did—and do.
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