Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would always keep hidden from her, at least human love. So I come suppliant. . And I’ve read, and thought, and guessed, and looked—until MY innocence—it’s smirched. They fight over money all of the time. I see that I am a beast—I beg your pardon, bête—and an imbecile, and an idiot. I only know that it is right to do what I do. She slid her cheek down the tweed sleeve of his coat. “Why?” he asked, suavely. Bête, she told herself fiercely. It is her duty to tell me, and I would not have her think that I had been trying to work upon your sympathies to learn her secrets. ” Sir John turned towards the door. ” “But Hainault—was—a pal. I shall still believe in you.
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