"Well, Lady Trafford," he said, fixing a severe look upon her. Now the sense of beauty was spreading to a multitude of hitherto unsuspected aspects of the world about her. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. Why, then, did he touch it? As he climbed heavily into his chair, she was able to note the little beads of sweat under the cracked nether lip. "I never saw the like of you! One has to guard one's actions constantly in this wicked world, if one is a woman, young and pretty. But an individual she never laid eyes on day before yesterday! And the minute he gets up, he'll head for the public bar.
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