Ruth stared into the painted face, now sundrily cracked by the coursing tears. ‘All so long ago and my memory ain’t what it was. He threw her on the bed. He thought of her and himself, and no longer in that vein of incidental adventure in which he had begun. Could you come to tea at my rooms one afternoon, or would you dine with me somewhere, and do a theatre? We could have a private room, of course, if you do not wish to be seen about London, and a box at the theatre. Advancing towards him, he made him a formal salutation, which was coldly returned. ’ Handing over the guineas, he added, ‘For you. Maybe others that I do not know about. Drink this!” He poured out a glass of wine with a firm hand, and held it to her lips.
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