The girl who had just left the room was as great a mystery to him now as on the afternoon when he had met her in Piccadilly and taken her to tea. He glanced downwards at the impetuous torrent, which he could perceive shooting past him with lightning swiftness in the gloom. Very quietly, he added, “Oh Lucia, I’m sorry. As she did so the preparation-room door opened behind her. The moment he was out in the hall, Ruth sat up hugging and rocking her body in delight. She had done forever with the Age of Chivalry, and her own base adaptations of its traditions to the compromising life. One cannot trust any man at all. The Iron Bar.
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