“I cannot but conclude,” he said, “that your errand involved the recital to my wife of some trouble in which you find yourself. "I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly. His interest was divided: while his ears drank in the sounds, his glance constantly roved from Ruth to the performer and back to Ruth. “It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself. His statement was treated with derision. “If you must go on with it,” said Hetty, “now’s your time. Very soon she would be able to forget it. She rested for a half hour in heaven on earth, feeling herself drift in and out of sleep. "The Wastrel seemed to take it all right. " So saying, she planted herself between Jack and the turnkey.
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