She imagined descending the stairs, hearing Mike’s uproarious laughter as she peeked around a vacant corner with a lump in her throat. Journeying blindly half way across the world, this man had found his quarry. Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. The only part of his otherwise-interesting countenance, to which one could decidedly object, was the mouth; a feature that, more than any other, is conceived to betray the animal propensities of the possessor. It appeared he had already ordered dinner and wine, and the whiskered waiter waved in his subordinate with the soup forthwith. ‘Besides, I don’t want the men blundering in here and frightening off our spy.
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