Ruth obeyed, not willingly, but because there was something hypnotic in the authoritative tone. Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall. After the twins were past the toddling age, Clotilde finally caught on when the children cleaved to Lucia’s breast when it was time to leave for a fortnight abroad. Let us be friends—as near and close as friends can be. But it was hopelessly hard to put. I can’t imagine Londoners—particularly interested in me.
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