Ruth could not very well object, since an air of distinction would go with Taber. Dizzily, she grabbed at the mantel for support and, resting her head on her hands, paid no heed to a betraying sound behind her—until an unexpected arm encircled her. It penetrated the skin; benumbed the flesh; paralysed the faculties. She could see that she was now the exclusive object of the boy’s attention. I might add that in any case I should not touch Sir John’s. Still, they bob up occasionally. Joan told me it was hung somewhere in the house, only I couldn’t remember where after all this time. "That's it!"—eagerly. She receded into the entryway, opening her palm and gesturing as if there were an imaginary red carpet rolled out for visitors. None of this by-play escaped Ruth, whose sense of humour needed no developing. .
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