"You read it, Ruth. He carried a small bag. I am not boring you, am I?” She raised her eyes to his and smiled into his face. He seemed inexorable, and inscrutable as fate itself. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study. I know where everything valuable is kept. “Think of what people will say!” That became a refrain. I've seen many cases like it. She was herself conscious of a recklessness of spirits almost hysterical. F.
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