Curiosity held her by one hand, urging her to recklessness, and caution held her by the other. The more she disentangled the lines of her situation the deeper grew her self-disgust. “John, don’t!” she cried. I took him out of the hands of death. It was not due to shyness: it was the inherent instinct of the Woman, a protective fear that she must retain some elements of mystery in order to hold the interest of the male. ‘It is excessively important that the horse comes with us. Fortescue in the drawing-room, and actually shake hands with him in an entirely hopeless manner and hope everything would turn out for the best. Ruth, without suspecting it, had fallen upon a fundamental truth: that each and every book fitted into the scheme of human moods and intelligence.
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