Not my affair, of course, but I think we ought to teach them more or restrain them more. ” Annabel moistened her dry lips with a handkerchief steeped in eau de Cologne. Baptist Kettleby (for so was the Master named) was a "goodly portly man, and a corpulent," whose fair round paunch bespoke the affection he entertained for good liquor and good living. He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. In the meanwhile, as he talked, he scrutinized her face, ran his eyes over her careless, gracious poise, wondered hard about her. For a time Spurlock did not move. It filled his thoughts for the rest of the day, and became an obsession.
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