" This expression was old in Ruth's ears. Lady Palsworthy was the widow of a knight who had won his spurs in the wholesale coal trade, she was of good seventeenth-century attorney blood, a county family, and distantly related to Aunt Mollie’s deceased curate. Everything in this world changed—except human folly. It is generally deficient in the qualities it prides itself upon most. The latter began to heave himself up from the sand. Not if I read her aright. My destiny, I am afraid, is going to lead me into the ruts. His attraction for her was now written plainly on his freckled face, revealed by the many drinks he had imbibed. “Won’t you tell me why you have come to England?” she said. ‘Forgive my not rising to greet you,’ she said, holding out a claw-like hand. You observe that I am, as usual, fairly cheerful, and moderately amiable. That he was immolating Ruth on the altar of his conscience never broke in upon his thought for consideration.
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