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He rather liked the "sir"; it signified both gratefulness and the chastened spirit. Ruth, without suspecting it, had fallen upon a fundamental truth: that each and every book fitted into the scheme of human moods and intelligence. Laugh on the wrong side of your mouth, now. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. Her roving eagerness was at all times shaded with shyness, reserve, repression. ‘Tchah! So you’re the whelp’s girl, are you? Suppose you’ve nothing but that villainous French in your tongue. But the figure was evidently too intent on peering within the ballroom to pay any attention to what might be occurring outside. We looked upon you, my dear Sir John, with reverence, almost with awe. ‘Obstinate fool!’ She saw Gosse raise a hand, and dug into her nun’s habit for the knife she had not thought to need. Somehow logic could not explain her.
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