It grew clear to her that throughout all her wild raid for independence she had done nothing for anybody, and many people had done things for her. “When can we be alone together?” She asked him, never loosening her grip. Will you lend me the money for my ticket to London?” “With all the pleasure in the world,” he answered heartily. I couldn’t rest or eat or sleep. Both had dropped the rather elaborate politeness of the dining-room, and in their faces an impartial observer would have discovered little lines of obstinate wilfulness in common; a certain hardness—sharp, indeed, in the father and softly rounded in the daughter—but hardness nevertheless, that made every compromise a bargain and every charity a discount. Ruth wore a printed cotton kimono.
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