While the cloth was laid, the host and Thames descended to the cellar, whence they returned, laden with a number of flasks of the same form, and apparently destined to the same use as those depicted in Hogarth's delectable print—the Modern Midnight Conversation. The light would betray us. “Very good,” he said. If only to say goodbye. In the meanwhile, as he talked, he scrutinized her face, ran his eyes over her careless, gracious poise, wondered hard about her. And in the Avenue she had an encounter with Ramage. He was almost paralyzed with nervousness and desire. “I got Sydney’s telegram at ten o’clock, and caught the ten-thirty from the Gare du Nord. We can love on a snow cornice, we can love over a pail of whitewash. Even after this woman had gone, it seemed to Ruth that the room was kindlier than it had ever been. She looked round wildly, as if seeking some source of help, as the boots halted at the front door and the shouting intensified. Come. He did not care whether the stories were accepted or not.
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