He was an imaginative young man. "The Dawn Pearl!" he said, making to recline again. "This gentleman brings us tidings of an old friend, my dear," said the carpenter. The sing-song girl, seeing Ruth, extended her hands and began to chatter rapidly. Was there anything at all in those locked rooms of her aunt’s mind? Were they fully furnished and only a little dusty and cobwebby and in need of an airing, or were they stark vacancy except, perhaps, for a cockroach or so or the gnawing of a rat? What was the mental equivalent of a rat’s gnawing? The image was going astray. I WAS talking to him before I saw his name on the card beside the row of microscopes.
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