My nerves are shaken. "An idea has just occurred to me," said Gay, "which Jack's narrative has suggested. Our quarrel's quite over. But all these hours, trying to teach the child wariness toward life, and the moment his back was turned, this! He was, perhaps, still dazed by the inner revelation—his own interest in Ruth. As she went on, the story began to sound more and more like a recitation. Gay, was a stout, good-looking, good-humoured man, about thirty-six, with a dark complexion, an oval face, fine black eyes, full of fire and sensibility, and twinkling with roguish humour—an expression fully borne out by the mouth, which had a very shrewd and sarcastic curl. She had the same sharp nose—which, indeed, only Ann Veronica, of all the family, had escaped. The blue jowl, the fat-lidded eyes—now merry, now alert, now tungsten hard—the bullet head, the pudgy fingers and the square-toed shoes were all in conformation with the doctor's olden mental picture. Deep silences came between them. ‘Never mind where.
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