CHAPTER XXIII Next morning Ruth did not refer to the episode on the sands of the lagoon. The small grey feathers of her exquisitely shaped fan waved gently backwards and forwards. There was a lot of that, John, a great deal of hunger. Could she go through with it? She must. He rose, steadied himself, then walked out of the dining room. "Is this a season to speak on such a subject?" "Perhaps not," rejoined the woollen-draper; "but the uncontrollable violence of my passion must plead my excuse. Ruth and Spurlock separated, the one embarrassed, the other utterly dumfounded. My sinuses are so swollen up right now. That's how I finally got wind of it. "We work together no more.
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