Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. She had felt very uncomfortable around him, grotesque. Then he took me out to Monteaux, on a motor. A piece of seaweed touched her hand, tender and green. That is why I called myself Anna. He came to her and stood before her, waiting, the morning light dazzling his eyes. "Ruth?" "Hoddy!" she cried. “Suppose I chuck it,” she remarked, standing with the mauve slip in her hand —“suppose I chuck it, and surrender and go home! Perhaps, after all, Roddy was right! “Father keeps opening the door and shutting it, but a time will come— “I could still go home!” She held Ramage’s check as if to tear it across. “You were booked of course. You’re a good friend.
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