Perhaps she was. Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. This mitigated her remorse enormously. To his great joy he found a small garret-door in the roof of the opposite house open. Then he stood up and hailed a fiacre. CHAPTER XXIII Next morning Ruth did not refer to the episode on the sands of the lagoon. Lucy could feel blood welling underneath a bump half swelling and already half-healing on her scalp. Mr.
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