He might call her wife, but she refused to give him his wedding night. He glanced at Ruth (who had stood with her back to the wall, pinned there throughout the contest by terror and the knowledge of her own helplessness), then at the bronze menace, and calculated correctly that this particular adventure was finished. It was he who saw them first coming down the room—Annabel in a wonderful white satin gown in front, and Sir John stiff, unbending, disapproving, bringing up the rear. It got on my nerves—the women I saw. From all angles he was at a disadvantage—in weight, skill, endurance. And then her pace slackened.
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