Shortly Ruth and Spurlock took the way home. The city presented a terrible picture of devastation. Jacques, Jacques!’ His face was white, but his eyes were open, if a trifle glazed. She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. Meanwhile, the excitement of the chase had in some degree subsided. So presently they got into a hansom together, and Ann Veronica sat back feeling very luxurious and pleasant, and looked at the light and stir and misty glitter of the street traffic from under slightly drooping eyelids, while Ramage sat closer to her than he need have done, and glanced ever and again at her face, and made to speak and said nothing. She will not confide in me. But threats and entreaties—even promises were ineffectual; and the unlucky captive, after exhausting his powers of persuasion, was compelled to give up the point. When he had finished he took up the wine list and ordered a bottle of dry champagne.
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