He would be so disappointed. "What has happened?" Ruth asked. ” She paused again. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. He threw up his hand, reeled for a moment on his feet, and collapsed upon the floor. Loving was self-forgetfulness, pure delighting in another human being. In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster. ’ ‘How do I know that?’ demanded Jack. Her knees almost sank beneath her as she raised the latch of the front door and looked out. Ruth was at that stage where the absorption of facts is great, but where the mental digestion is not quite equal to the task.
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