Gerald sighed. Mr. Wood, glancing angrily at her husband. The natural gaiety of the place seemed to have affected them both. He glanced at Ruth (who had stood with her back to the wall, pinned there throughout the contest by terror and the knowledge of her own helplessness), then at the bronze menace, and calculated correctly that this particular adventure was finished. Now, Sir. It has instead found you. And now—Dear! Dear! The dayspring from on high hath visited me. A broken laugh followed the action. “Well,” he said at last slowly, “I’ll pay it. Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year.
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