One of them was a stout square-built man, with a singularly swarthy complexion, and harsh forbidding features. ‘That—that—why do you speak of him?’ ‘Because I feel you ought to know,’ Gerald said calmly, but rising and watching her closely, ‘that all your trouble may be in vain. Ruth loved him. It might have been the moon, or the phosphorescence of the broken water, or it might have been his abysmal loneliness; but suddenly he caught her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth. Again returning to the main road, he passed through Clapton; and turning off on the left, arrived at the foot of Stamford Hill. She charged boldly into the space of Miss Miniver’s rhetorical pause. She ought to have been disposed to faint and scream at all these happenings; she ought to have maintained a front of outraged dignity to veil the sinking of her heart.
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