" "Your secret?" demanded Trenchard, impatiently. Nothing is wrong that you do. Wood in a sharp tone. Her words, as she said them, seemed to her to mean nothing, and there was so much that struggled for expression. He sat up in his chair again, the colour came back to his cheeks. " "There isn't an angel in heaven, Ruth, purer or sweeter than you are. She wanted to kiss his feet. 266 She peered up at him. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. ‘And, if this was not enough,’ went on the lady furiously, ‘you dare to say I am French.
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