CHAPTER XXIII Next morning Ruth did not refer to the episode on the sands of the lagoon. “She cannot be aware,” he continued, “that she is making herself conspicuous. Annabel shines like a star in the darkness, Rosamund queens it a rose, deep rose; But the lady I love is like sunshine in April weather, She gleams and gladdens, she warms—and goes. For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and troubled, ashamed of her previous obtuseness. You notice that I have recently spent ten francs on a box of the best Russian cigarettes, and that there are roses upon my table. It is attested, you will observe, by the Reverend Mr. Poor little one. “Are you in a hurry? Will you come in and have some coffee?” He hesitated, and glanced towards her companion.
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