“I have had a trying evening and I need rest. ” So they talked on whilst supper was served, falling easily into the spirit of the place, and yet both of them conscious of some new thing underlying the gaiety of their tongues and manner. Crouching down, Gerald waited, hands at the ready. Her complexion was wan and faded, except where it was tinged by a slight hectic flush, that made the want of colour more palpable; her eyes were large and black, but heavy and lustreless; her cheeks sunken; her frame emaciated; her dark hair thickly scattered with gray. Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. He could not know about the Remenham connection, could he? No one knew but her father and Martha.
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