It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. It was not simply that all the rooms were rearranged and everybody dressed in unusual fashions, and all the routines of life abolished and put away: people’s tempers and emotions also seemed strangely disturbed and shifted about. ‘You’ve found her out?’ ‘Tell us at once,’ urged Miss Froxfield. ‘She means thanks to you, General,’ Gerald translated automatically, forgetful of his old commander’s fiery temper. Her situation was perplexing her very much, and the Widgett atmosphere was lax and sympathetic, and provocative of discussion.
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