He pictured himself visiting the girl in this shabby little home of her aunt’s—she had told him that it was shabby—and he recalled that delicious little smile with which she would surely greet him, a smile which seemed to be a matter of the eyes as well as the lips. " "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard. It would have been the right idea, had Ruth been other than what she was. ’ ‘Parbleu, it is I who am the idiot?’ she scolded furiously, removing one hand and digging it into her sleeve. She relented out of exhaustion, yet he would not let her near Marina, his embrace tightening.
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