"Write as I dictate," he cried, placing a pen in the jailer's hand and a pistol to his ear. "You see?" Ruth said. If it was not an actual personal lover, it still might be the lover not yet incarnate, not yet perhaps suspected. Cursing under his breath, Gerald moved swiftly across and dragged her away. He went to the door. “Why should women be dependent on men?” she asked; and the question was at once converted into a system of variations upon the theme of “Why are things as they are?”—“Why are human beings viviparous?”—“Why are people hungry thrice a day?”—“Why does one faint at danger?” She stood for a time looking at the dry limbs and still human face of that desiccated unwrapped mummy from the very beginnings of social life. She felt that Ann Veronica had duped her in that dream, and now that she had come up to London she might as well speak her mind. “I cannot part with you. You have the look in your eyes to-night which you had that day, the look of a frightened child. Ruth stared into the painted face, now sundrily cracked by the coursing tears. She was honest again.
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