But that, and that sort of thing, is just a day-dream. Swiftly she ran her hands over the carvings, trying to find the lever to the secret panel again. ‘It was your son who left the place empty then?’ he asked. She turned away from the doorway of the silk loom to observe. “Not much. Her hair, once red, faded to a thin gray that she kept cut into a practical short bob. "No, I don't. Then, presto! What a dreary lot they are when the revellers lay aside the motley! Ruth had come from a far South Sea isle.
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