"Where is he?" asked she, in an agitated whisper. The problem had returned, made gigantic by the possibility of Ruth's love. She cut a deep gash into her own arm with a steel screw, loosing drops of her own blood onto the floorboards. Aware of the footman hovering, and the hackney coachman’s curious eyes looking down from his box, Gerald leaned a little towards her and spoke in a lowered tone. The soil was identical, the climate; still, they would not bear the Olympian fruit, with its purple-lined jacket and its snow-white pulp. She was an indignant queen, no doubt she was alarmed and disgusted within limits; but she was highly excited, and there was something, some low adventurous strain in her being, some element, subtle at least if base, going about the rioting ways and crowded insurgent meeting-places of her mind declaring that the whole affair was after all—they are the only words that express it—a very great lark indeed. “You are mistaken, David. The clanking of chains, the grating of locks, and the rumbling of bolts must have been music in Jonathan's ears, so much pains did he take to subject himself to such sounds. Do have another. She receded into the entryway, opening her palm and gesturing as if there were an imaginary red carpet rolled out for visitors. It is but a wild threat.
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