The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth —a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold. The real Ruth was as completely hidden as though she stood behind the walls of Agra Fort. In the adjacent apartment Ann Veronica found a middle-aged woman with a tired face under the tired hat she wore, sitting at a desk opening letters while a dusky, untidy girl of eight-or nine-and-twenty hammered industriously at a typewriter. It was easy for him to see that she desired to be agreeable to him. Here you only waste your time. "You must have travelled a good deal to know so much about men. Finally she fell into reflection. ‘You’re speaking the truth. But I don’t think she lays hold of one so. She came to spend hours with the bastard children that the women brought, dressing and feeding the tiny ones, inventing games for the older ones. " At the sound of his voice every vestige of colour fled from Winifred's cheeks, and the work upon which she was engaged fell from her hand. The whole incident was so unexpected that neither Courtlaw nor Brendon were awaiting.
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