“I am convinced you haven’t thought this out,” he went on. A silver necklace enhanced the dusky beauty of her neck. The Scot understood that, gently and indirectly, Ruth was asking her husband a question, opening a door if he cared to enter. ‘A spitfire, ain’t she, sir?’ Roding ignored this. ’ ‘Yes, but when I think about this, I do not think I can do so,’ she said candidly. But I never found any truth in the saying. ‘Gerald, this is a nun’s habit. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. At this moment, a door was opened below; lights gleamed on the walls; and the figures of Rowland and Sir Cecil were distinguished at the foot of the stairs.
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