’ ‘No, perhaps not,’ Gerald agreed with a smile. "What is it?" "Can't you see? Together, down there; you and I!… As my wife! Both of us, never to be lonely again!… Will you marry me, Ruth?" As many a wiser woman had done, Ruth mistook thrilling eagerness for love. . "Of yourself," he replied, in a mournful tone. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. She bolted awake in the large bed which was awash in a sea of silks, furs, and red curtains. They even talked about friendship. “It isn’t a joke,” she said. “Very likely,” he answered. A film of dust lay upon it; the ink marks were ancient.
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