" So Ruth heard about the poets; she became tolerably familiar with the exploits of that engaging ruffian Cellini; she heard of the pathetic deafness of Beethoven; she was thrilled, saddened, exhilarated; and on the evening of the twelfth day she made bold to enter the talk. "I think you're all bewitched," she cried. She had no idea what she should do. " "I will carry you to the house, or fetch Mr. The knowledge breathed into her heart a satisfying warmth. ‘Soi-disant? Then he is not Valade?’ ‘How can I know?’ she countered crossly. 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. The Matriarchate! The Lords of Creation just ran about and did what they were told. He stood with his hands in his pockets looking at Miss Klegg’s back.
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