“I had the pleasure of—er—meeting you more than once, I believe. My garden-close would be a better thing than that. Do you understand?” “I do not,” he answered. It was enough. The real Ruth was as completely hidden as though she stood behind the walls of Agra Fort. ’ ‘Merci,’ she sighed and, surrendering at last to his oft-proffered aid, allowed her head to droop onto his chest. It was astonishing how often this picture returned: cold rosy apples and flurries of snow. But in a moment she believed she understood. He began to talk again in quick undertones that she could not clearly hear. She reflected before answering.
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