He went over his interview with her again, their conversation at dinner-time. “You don’t know him, Anna,” she said with a little shudder, “or you would not talk like that. One swift glance about the room, and a sensation of grim foreboding swept through him. For Ruth grew lovelier as the days went on. “Forgive me,” he decided to say at last, and his voice had a little quiver of emotion, and he laid his hand on hers upon her knee. “But, you see, appearances are very much against me. You are not ‘Alcide. Nigel Ennison was he.
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