What might it have been?’ Mrs Sindlesham shook her head helplessly. Come and see him, Lucia. I, too, want to understand—to walk with my head in the light. “I did,” Anna answered. She crawled into her small bed, dizzy with the thoughts of him, of kissing him. But it is all over now, and presently there will be some one else. Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would always keep hidden from her, at least human love. The performance over, he relaxed and closed his eyes. ’ She tossed her head. She admitted her pleasure to Ramage. As soon as dinner was over she went into the kitchen and devoted herself to compiling a tray—not a tray merely of halfcooled dinner things, but a specially prepared “nice” tray, suitable for tempting any one.
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