Instead, she laughed, laughed with lips and eyes, laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks. . ’ ‘Dieu du ciel! But this is catastrophe. It would be swindling. “Promise me that you’ll never tell another living soul, John. ‘As a matter of fact, I’m not at all sympathique. The youth with his hair like Russell cleared his throat and said rather irrelevantly that he knew a man who knew Thomas Bayard Simmons, who had rioted in the Strangers’ Gallery, and then Capes, finding them all distinctly pro-Ann Veronica, if not profeminist, ventured to be perverse, and started a vein of speculation upon the Scotchman’s idea—that there were still hopes of women evolving into something higher. Ruth, having decided a course for herself—that of renunciation—and having the strength to keep it, met these advances in precisely the mood they were offered. . Ruth crossed over to the dramatist of this tragicomedy and put a hand on his shoulder.
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