John said nothing. “Good-bye, John,” she said simply. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. Gerald was conscious of that sliver of irritation again at mention of the name. There was nothing in the pockets of the coat. None at all. In this hour its colossal selfishness never occurred to him. “I propose,” Sir John said, “that we pay for our dinner—which we haven’t had— tip the garçon a sovereign, and take a cab to the Ritz. Sepulchre's.
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