She accepted his rejoinder with a brief nod. ‘And if it is true that you love me, I do not know why it is that you do not kiss me again at once. ‘Why do you think I told you about the portrait? I’d not seen it, of course, but I’d seen Miss Mary just before she got married, which is when it was painted. All his interest in Ruth, all his care and solicitude, could now be translated into a single word—love. See? Down we should rush in a foam—in a cloud of snow—to flight and a dream. He was not particularly grateful for the present situation. She tried to be casual. His eyes looked a little bloodshot to her; his face had lost something of its ruddy freshness. Perhaps marriage hurt. She lit the cigarette with a tiny Kelly green drugstore lighter. ” “You may be sure of the one,” she murmured. He recognized the face instantly. She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave.
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