” “Why?” she asked. ” “Rather! But I wonder why you don’t mean it?” “Because, I suppose, the other thing is better. He glanced at Ruth (who had stood with her back to the wall, pinned there throughout the contest by terror and the knowledge of her own helplessness), then at the bronze menace, and calculated correctly that this particular adventure was finished. She breathed deeply of the starch of his shirt. ‘Do you tell me that my disreputable son had the infernal insolence to pass you off as that whoring Frenchwoman’s daughter?’ His answer was in their faces. Had Gosse taken it as he escaped? What could she do? Gosse now knew that she was the daughter of Mary Remenham.
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