He had brought her here to this place—where her freedom was curtailed even more than at the convent so that a cavalier was very much needed—and only on Monday came again. It came into her head with real emotional force that this must be some particularly fantastic sort of dream. Your father…. Let him be sure. Then, in a few years, he and Ruth might fare forth in comfort and security. She shattered the edifice he was building up of himself as a devoted lover, waiting only his chance to win her from a hopeless and consuming passion. She stood, as it were, directed doorward, with her eyes watching every movement, listening to him, repelled by him and yet dimly understanding. He's an interpretative genius, if there ever was one. “I might go home, I don’t know. ‘You ought to be glad someone cares enough about your wretched little neck to try and save it.
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