CHAPTER VIII. Rain started to pummel the roof of the pavilion, which coalesced into sheets and rumbled to the cement below. Then the distant relationship to Miss Stanley gave them a slight but pleasant sense of proprietorship in the girl. Oh! I'm in such a fluster!" Upon which, she snatched up her fan, cast a look into the glass, smoothed down her scarf, threw a soft expression into her features, and led the way into the next room, whither she was followed by her daughter and Thames Darrell. A crumpled-up newspaper thrown from the gallery hit her upon the cheek. Wood heard the cry. And he, her lawful husband, dared not go to her and console her! Accursed—all of them— Enschede, Ruth, and himself.
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