We dine at seven-thirty. Ruth's mind was fertile soil; for a long time to come it would be something of a hothouse: green things would spring up and blossom overnight. ‘She won’t confide in you? Now, why?’ ‘Because that scoundrel Leonardo drummed it into her head that no man was to be trusted,’ Gerald announced viciously. Do you see the time?” “I may come and see you?” Ennison asked, as his hand touched hers. ’ ‘Just what I thought, miss. One of those hanging moments ensued— hypnotic. You are an artist by the Divine right of birth, but whatever form of expression may come to you at some time it will not be painting.
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