That she possessed any sense of humour was in itself one of those human miracles which metaphysicians are always pothering over without arriving anywhere; for her previous environment had been particularly humourless. She felt terrible lying to him. What else could he do? You can’t kick up a scene on the spur of the moment in the face of such conflicting values as he had before him. It was dangerous for her to dare approaching him and she knew the tremendous risk she was taking, but a part of her demanded that he be found. " Thus urged, Jack reluctantly departed. ” Her breath left her for a moment. Why had he kissed her? What had led him into that? Neither love nor passion— utter blankness so far as reducing the act to terms. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron.
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