Lucy could see her striding down a Parisian catwalk quite easily. While involved in this crowd, near Temple Bar, —where the thoroughfare was most dangerous from the masses of ruin that impeded it,—an individual, whose swarthy features recalled to the carpenter one of his tormentors of the previous night, collared him, and, with bitter imprecations accused him of stealing his child. He wondered if, after all, McClintock wasn't nearest the truth, that Ruth was one of those unfortunate yet innocent women who make havoc with the hearts of men. But there was an abiding serpent in this Eden. He could not know about the Remenham connection, could he? No one knew but her father and Martha. The curve of his shoulders, the very angle of his feet, expressed relief at her apparent obedience.
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