She resumed her on guard position, and glaring steadily at him, waited again. “I wanted to go to an art-student ball of which he disapproved. It was the bitterest moment of her life. The bed-and table-linen were of the finest texture. He did not want Ruth to see his own stricken countenance; nor did he care to see hers, ravaged by tears. Was the situation so desperate that he could not pack his best things? She had packed lightly, not wanting to weigh down the carriage they would travel in. As Leonardo had himself pronounced, who better than a mountebank to teach of the perils awaiting the unwary? Who better than a wastrel to demonstrate the worth of thrift? And who could instruct better in the matter of affections than one who had thrown them away? ‘If he had loved me,’ she said, in the flat tone she had learned to use to conceal her vulnerable heart, ‘he would have left me at Remenham House to live a life of an English lady.
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