Already he was dramatizing Ruth, involving her, now in some pearl thieving adventure, now in some impossible tale of a white goddess. So far as the eye could reach, the white level road, with its fringe of elm-trees, was empty. One point in her narrative stood out beyond all others. "Here's a door," remarked Ireton, when he got to that nearest the leads, "which I could have sworn would have resisted anything. ” “You have been to her?” he asked. Her expression was a little changed, less innocent, more discerning. ” “I mean—” “I behaved like an idiot, that’s all. The key's in the lock, on the inner side. It was a large room, about twenty feet long and fifteen broad, and had an arched stone roof. Where her husband saw only two youngsters in the mating mood, she felt that tragedy in some phase lurked in this room—if only in the loneliness of these two, without kith or kin apparently, thousands of miles from home.
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