" "My poor son!" groaned the widow, sinking backwards. It was from Brendon. She went into shock. ‘This is altogether insupportable!’ She dug a hand into the recesses of the petticoat of her riding habit and a moment later Gerald found himself once again confronting the barrel of her overlarge and tarnished pistol. When she released him he ran down the beach for a stick which he fetched and laid at her feet. It would have been the right idea, had Ruth been other than what she was. “This has all the clean freshness of spring and youth,” said Capes; “it is love with the down on; it is like the glitter of dew in the sunlight to be lovers such as we are, with no more than one warm kiss between us. “You, too,” he said abruptly. Wood uttered something like an imprecation.
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