Sebastian's arms were about her, his fists pumping her stomach as she coughed forth saltwater from her belly and lungs. There was no disgust in Ruth's heart, only an infinite pity; for only the pitiful understand. It was the last thing she felt like drinking. Nevertheless, Sir John had the look of a man who was enjoying himself. He did everything. Then, in a whisper: "But there's no reason why the whole hotel should. She fell with a plop onto her rear end in the mud and sat dumbly like a statue, water eddying around her. The idea of Ruth as a talisman against misfortune—which he now recognized as a sick man's idea— faded as his appreciation of the absurd reasserted itself. She laughed a little bitterly. ” She departed from the couch and went upstairs to find John. Her aunt was blandly amiable above a certain tremulous undertow, and talked as if to a caller about the alarming spread of marigolds that summer at the end of the garden, a sort of Yellow Peril to all the smaller hardy annuals, while her father brought some papers to table and presented himself as preoccupied with them. But, as soon as he perceived who it was, he roused himself, and glared fiercely at the intruder from under his bent brows.
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