Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. "His life—or yours?" "No one shall harm you more, my dear," cried Lady Trafford. We are not altogether strangers, are we? I feel that under the circumstances I have the right to offer you my advice, and if necessary my help. She expanded that. He opened the door for her with a faint disagreeable smile. His quiet, kindly smile implied his serene disbelief in any confessible thing. She had trouble outwitting him as he seemed to predict her words before he said them.
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