She stepped back quickly, and her hand knocked a wine-glass from the table to smash noisily on the floor. There came a wild rush of anthropological lore into her brain, a flare of indecorous humor. The blades on the top spun faster and faster. Torment! And so Ruth discovered him. “If I sit here,” he said, standing up before her abruptly, “I shall have to shout. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. How will I get an Englishman to wed me if they know that I behave not at all comme il faut?’ ‘Perhaps the Englishman in question will not care,’ suggested Prudence, with a twinkle in her eye for which Melusine was quite unable to account.
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