Take your pick, Mrs. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. You have the look in your eyes to-night which you had that day, the look of a frightened child. But a far greater affliction was in store for her. At times I swear I’ve never met a more jaded fifteen-year-old, and your lie about being sixteen didn’t get by me for one second, believe it. Or I should say—’ ‘Eugenia,’ cut in Gerald grimly. Her voice was soft and singularly musical; but from time to time she uttered old-fashioned words which forced him to grope mentally. The young officer sat in front, his hat perfectly straight. She whispered, “Another car is coming,” as lights approached their car. Only you good ones— shirk.
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