The moment he was out in the hall, Ruth sat up hugging and rocking her body in delight. This one was Henry Esmond, that one the melancholy Marius, and so forth and so on; never any villains. And they’ll shut the gates presently. But she certainly remembered that when she was a little girl he sometimes wore tennis flannels, and also rode a bicycle very dexterously in through the gates to the front door. She was sore with the perplexities of her preposterous position. Here one might live the life of golden days. ‘We mean you no harm,’ he said reassuringly.
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