It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. Bit priggish, isn’t it? And if he only knew it—so absurd. The Goopes were the oddest little couple conceivable, following a fruitarian career upon an upper floor in Theobald’s Road. Wanted her out of the way because he had been afraid of her, afraid of himself! He, at fifty-four! Then into this void poured a flaming anger, a blind and unreasoning anger. She was quivering with the sense of Capes at her side and glowing with heroic love; it seemed to her that if they put their hands jointly against the Alps and pushed they would be able to push them aside. ‘Well then, Melusine,’ he said calmly, ‘it seems as if we must get you your dowry willy-nilly.
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