"How old are you?" demanded Miss Prudence. Ruth drank in these intellectual controversies, storing away facts. “What on earth did you expect me to do, then?” he asked. Her glasses moved quickly as her glance travelled from face to face. “By God! Ann Veronica,” he said, sighing deeply. There were one or two bitter moments in his life when he had been made to feel that gentility laid on with a brush may sometimes crack and show weak places—that deportment and breeding are after all things apart. He now understood her interest in Taber, as he called himself: habit, a twice-told tale.
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