She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping. ’ ‘Did no one know, then?’ ‘No, for the vicomte, we learned later, wrote to General Lord Charvill in pursuit of his sister. He knew that at this moment Ruth lay upon her bed in torment, for she was by nature tender; and the reaction of her scathing words, no matter how justifiable, would be putting scars on her soul. Indeed, it seemed inevitable that she must clear it up with his assistance, or not at all. She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets.
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