Poor girl! she was beautiful once; so beautiful as to make me, who care little for the allurements of women, fancy myself enamoured of her. That was what she was trying to make him understand. He wondered if these abnormal mental activities presaged illness. Why was she noting things like this? Capes seemed selfpossessed and elaborately genial and commonplace, but she knew him to be nervous by a little occasional clumsiness, by the faintest shadow of vulgarity in the urgency of his hospitality. He wasn't sure, but he thought he saw a faint shudder stir her shoulders. The loneliness of the place somewhat depressed her. He saw what he had done only as it related to Ruth. “I really do not believe,” he announced with satisfaction, “that any one would recognize me.
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