He was introduced to Brendon, and a chair was brought by an attentive waiter. "Mr. Kneebone, I came hither as your guest. Ruth's emotion was a primitive joy: she was essential in this man's life, and she would always be happy because he would always be needing her. She had found the mausoleum underneath a broken monument. Will you come sensibly, or shall I carry you? You are mine!" Ruth's peculiar education had not vitiated the primitive senses; they were always on guard; and in a moment such as this they rushed instantly to the surface. With a swirl of her floral chintz petticoats, she placed herself in the capacious window seat, accepted the glass Gerald handed to her, and smiled mischievously up at him.
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