” He stopped and said earnestly: “It is the chief thing in life, and everything else goes down before it. "And the Marchioness is your daughter," added Thames. " "Ruth what?" "Enschede; Ruth Enschede. " "So she was," replied the woollen-draper, helping himself to an enormous pinch of snuff with the air of a man who does not dislike to be rallied about his gallantry,—"so she was. If she had any idea at all, it was something she dimly recalled from her books: something celestially beautiful, with a happy ending. Perhaps that other boy who visited you backstage at the concert. Cheveney strolled up, a pipe in his mouth. . She clenched her hands together and leaned forward in her chair, gazing steadily into the fire. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously.
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