Perhaps she might never come back to that breakfast-room again. "Ruth, you must not come and sit on the threshold. Abruptly the sterner look vanished and she twinkled. I feel a mixture of beast and uncle. I sent my check for ten thousand; and it has cost me six thousand to find you. There he sat, cheerfully friendly in his sex’s freedom—the man she loved, the one man she cared should unlock the way to the wide world for her imprisoned feminine possibilities, and he seemed regardless that she stifled under his eyes; he made a jest of all this passionate insurgence of the souls of women against the fate of their conditions.
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