“I should like to speak to you for a few minutes,” he said to Anna, dropping his voice a little. Before she passed out she turned and faced Sir John. It was a fetching gown that stretched tightly in a cream colored swath over her breasts and expanded to a full skirt with a petticoat. A strange betrothal!—the primal idea of which was escape! The girl, intent upon abrogating for ever all legal rights of the father in the daughter, of rendering innocuous the thing she had now named the Terror: the boy, seeking selfcrucifixion in expiation of his transgression, changing a peccadillo into damnation! It was easy for Ruth to surrender to the idea, for she believed she was loved; and in gratitude it was already her determination to give this boy her heart's blood, drop by drop, if he wanted it. She closed her eyes, discerning the divinations he had been up to during her violin concert.
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