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The prisoner was then thrust in by Quilt. I must go to-night, or I shall never behold him again. ‘Ah, there is the little menace itself,’ he drawled, recovering some of his own sangfroid. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. He was really very proud of her, and extraordinarily angry and resentful at the innocent and audacious selfreliance that seemed to intimate her sense of absolute independence of him, her absolute security without him. ‘In that case, he is probably already dead, and you have nothing to worry about. ‘Jacques, you have been very much my friend.
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