Ruth stared into the painted face, now sundrily cracked by the coursing tears. It numbered nine, and four of these were women students. Aside from some loose coin and a trunk key, there was nothing in the pockets: no mail, no letter of credit, not even a tailor's label. At the Palazzo she had been confined to her own sunny windowed quarters most of the time, but she had the entire run of the inside of the manor. She did not want to seem to shrink from conversation, but all sorts of odd questions were running through her mind. Another glass, Jack. “Dinner is served, ma’am,” he announced to Mrs.
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