Even now I do not understand. She shrank from him as he gripped her hand more forcibly. How little he knew about Ruth—the background from which she had sprung! He knew that her father was a missioner, that her mother was dead, that she had been born on this island, and that, at the time of his collapse, she had been on the way to an aunt in the States. “Has he accused any one yet?” “Not yet,” he answered. It has been only the sort of nonsense which passes lightly enough between half the men and women in London. “And I’m not happy. ‘And so also have I.
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