He would get her to come to tea with him, usually in a pleasant tea-room over a fruit-shop in Tottenham Court Road, and he would discuss his own point of view and hint at a thousand devotions were she but to command him. Glancing around his prison, he began to think it possible he might effect an escape from it. Or mad, just as the captain had said so many times. On the second day out he was helped to a steamer-chair on deck; on the third day, his arm across Ruth's shoulder, he walked from his chair to the foremast and back. It was at his side below the breast, hidden by the dark colour of his close-fitting jacket. Still, it was true about men. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson.
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