y curtain
to learn if his agony was still upon him. She heard him come in;
the light burned on.

She discovered him sitting upon the floor beside his open trunk. He
had something across his knees. At first she could not tell what it
was; but as her eyes became accustomed to the light, she recognized
the old coat.

CHAPTER XXIII

Next morning Ruth did not refer to the episode on the sands of the
lagoon. Here again instinct guided her. If he had nothing to tell
her, she had nothing to ask. She did not want particularly to know
what had caused his agony, what had driven him back to the old
coat. He was in trouble and she could not help him; that was the
ache in her heart.

At breakfast both of them played their parts skillfully. There was
nothing in his manner to suggest the misery of the preceding night.
There was nothing on her face to hint of the misery that brimmed
her heart this morning. So they fenced with smiles.

He noted that she was fully dressed, that her hair was carefully
done, that there was a knotted ribbon around her throat. It now
occurred to him that she had always been fully dressed. He did not
know--and probably never would unless she told him--that it was
very easy (and comfortable for a woman) to fall into slatternly
ways in this latitude. So long as she could remember, her father
had never permitted her to sit at the table unless she came fully
dressed. Later, she understood his reasons; and it had now become
habit.

Fascination. It would be difficult to find another human being
subjected to so many angles of attack as Spurlock. Ruth loved him.
This did not tickle his vanity; on the contrary, it enlivened his
terror, which is a phase of fascination. She loved him. That held
his thought as the magnet holds the needle, inescapably. The mortal
youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all
sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. The novel danger of the
situation enthralled him. He saw himself retreating from barricade
to barricade, Ruth always advancing, perfectly oblivious of the
terror she inspired.

While he was stirring his tea, she ran and fetched the comb. She
attacked his hair resolutely. He laughed to hide his uneasiness.
The touch of her hands was pleasurable.

"The part was crooked," she explained.

"I don't believe McClintock would have gone into convulsions at the
sight of it. Anyhow, ten minutes after I get to work I'll be
rumpling it."

"That isn't