CHAPTER XIV. " "Wood!" exclaimed Trenchard,—"of Wych Street?" "The same. \"Are you hungry at all?\" He asked her. It was below consciousness, elusive; so he sent out a call to his friend, defensively. It is not well that a daughter should talk to her father as Ruth talked to hers that day. They decided quite audibly, “She’s an Old Dear, anyhow. To-night I locked up my flat at six o’clock. ” “And they won’t let us make plans for ourselves. She leaned forward, her chin in her palms, her elbows on her knees, and she set her gaze upon his face and kept it there in dreamy contemplation. ” “Perhaps you don’t.
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