” Again on his way homeward from Cavendish Square he abandoned the direct route to pass by the door of Anna’s flat. It might have been the moon, or the phosphorescence of the broken water, or it might have been his abysmal loneliness; but suddenly he caught her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth. Already he was dramatizing Ruth, involving her, now in some pearl thieving adventure, now in some impossible tale of a white goddess. "Is it you?" "It is," replied Sheppard, as he untied the cords. She marvelled at his apparent imperviousness to the heat. He seemed so clean anyway, his fair 215 skin, his light brown hair, there almost seemed to be no point. ” Her words were slurred with sleep. Moving swiftly to the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door at random and entered a large room, which looked to have been a saloon, judging from the faded gilt and crimson wall-paper, a mirror above the fireplace which was surrounded by an ornate gilded frame, now sadly tarnished, and a worn Chippendale sofa with striped upholstery and tasselled cushions.
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