. . . ‘What in Hades d’ye mean, thanks to me? Want to blame anyone, blame that rapscallion who calls himself your father. " Ruth spread out the ruffled skirt, sundrily torn and soiled. ” She spoke with a certain asperity. ” He put his hands in his pockets, his mouth puckered to a whistle, and he went to the door of the outer preparation-room and stood there, looking, save for the faintest intensification of his natural ruddiness, the embodiment of blond serenity. The cultivated indifference, which was part of the armour of his little world fell away from him. I too, Anna, have watched and read of your success with—I must confess it—some misgiving.
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