“Well?” she said. More strange stories were told of it than of any other house in London. The tree-lined streets were silent except for the sporadic revving of glass packs down Church Avenue. She seemed honestly glad to see him. She was an indignant queen, no doubt she was alarmed and disgusted within limits; but she was highly excited, and there was something, some low adventurous strain in her being, some element, subtle at least if base, going about the rioting ways and crowded insurgent meeting-places of her mind declaring that the whole affair was after all—they are the only words that express it—a very great lark indeed. "What is it?" "Can't you see? Together, down there; you and I!… As my wife! Both of us, never to be lonely again!… Will you marry me, Ruth?" As many a wiser woman had done, Ruth mistook thrilling eagerness for love. Was there ever such madness?” “I am afraid that I don’t understand,” Ennison answered.
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