"Who, then?" demanded Jack. She hadn't measured up; she had been stupid; she hadn't known how to make love. The manager conceded that he saw, that his original diagnosis was at fault. "These packets will establish Thames Darrell's birth, win him his inheritance, and procure him the hand of Winifred Wood. Ruth drank in these intellectual controversies, storing away facts. By and by—as the paroxysm subsided and he became motionless—she stole back to the bungalow to wait. Brute! Fool! To have come to her on such an errand.
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