He put his free arm around her and held the censer ready; and as Ruth snuggled her cheek against his sleeve, they were, so far as intent, in each other's arms. She dropped beside the chair, sat cross-legged, and laughed at the futile jade-coloured wall. She twanged the catgut under her fingers. She felt that for a time at any rate her depressing struggle against continual failure was at an end. The next moment, a heavy plunge told that the fugitive had been consigned to the waves. One chance in a thousand, and that would be the girl. “It’s the warming up of the year, the coming of the light mornings, the way in which everything begins to run about and begin new things.
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