Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling. The general propositions of Socialism, for example, struck her as admirable, but she certainly did not extend her admiration to any of its exponents. Bullding repeated, rather struck with the phrase. ” “Try what?” She asked, coolly assessing his lithe hips. . ’ He called through the library door. . . Ruth, having decided a course for herself—that of renunciation—and having the strength to keep it, met these advances in precisely the mood they were offered. “You little wretch!” she exclaimed weakly. You think you will. "Take me, then," replied the widow.
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