He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. “I have answered all your questions,” she said. “I want to know who you are. For now, I fear there is something worse, something more present. Perhaps there were experiences she would never confide to any man. I only arrived when everybody was coming away. They were things I had meant very much to talk to you about, so that I went home vexed and disappointed, and only relieved myself a little by writing a few verses. “Good-bye, John,” she said simply. “So you come from Anna, do you?” she remarked. “You must have heard—have you—oh, tell me, won’t you?” she begged. Ennison,” she said, letting her fingers rest in his. Blue haze had settled beyond the black silhouettes of trees, graduating to the deep violet that began the night sky. “I don’t care a rap for remembering. He had an air of having told her a deep, personal secret.
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