Gashes on his arms were already beginning to heal and disappear. “Ann Veronica,” he said, “I tell you this is love. To-night all London believes that he was your husband. It had not tasted good since 1350. All his interest in Ruth, all his care and solicitude, could now be translated into a single word—love. ” “The truth!” There was a brief but intense silence. Perhaps I ought not to; but this isn't a case to fiddle-faddle over. Every eye seemed focussed upon her; and yet she had known the sensation to be the conceit of her imagination. Her state of mind would have seemed altogether discreditable to her grandmother.
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