He was manifestly exerting his mind for her, and she found herself fully disposed to justify his interest. Her little bedsitting-room was like a lair, and she went out from it into this vast, dun world, with its smoke-gray houses, its glaring streets of shops, its dark streets of homes, its orange-lit windows, under skies of dull copper or muddy gray or black, much as an animal goes out to seek food. She was quite the rage, in a small way, you know. Woman's love of silk is not set by fashion; it is bred in the bone; and somewhere, somehow, a woman will have her bit of silk. Looking at this girl, a sense of failure swept over him. Probably she mistook you; probably she thought you cared. “Never mind. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. We will beg our bread and our shelter, and our passage on a boat. Here we go, thought Gerald. So long as matters remain as they are, and they found me, there would be no shame for Ruth. But this calm was more awful than the previous roaring of the blast. ‘But it is entirely myself,’ she exclaimed aloud. She is extremely lovely, but for her to have borne the name of the Blessed Virgin would have been nothing short of sacrilege.
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