Chapter XVII THE CHANGE IN “ALCIDE” “By-the-bye,” his neighbour asked him languidly, “who is our hostess?” “Usually known, I believe, as Lady Ferringhall,” Ennison answered, “unless I have mixed up my engagement list and come to the wrong house. She entered the kitchen. After all, what did it matter?—it or anything else in the world? She was within reach of his arms, beautiful, compelling, herself as it seemed suddenly conscious of the light which was burning in his eyes. For it was not a good thing to like one man too much when one was going to marry another. I throw up work—everything! I just teach in one school, one good school, three days a week. They were hailed as celebrities, the three of them. Oh, and weeks and months of thought and feeling there are bottled up too. Sheila’s own waif of a husband had objected to her airing the truth, he had even gotten the nerve to bring up the word divorce. He squatted and threw his arm around the backs of her knees. 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. If you will have your peg, take it with plain water. She waited expectantly. You know not what a wretched guilty thing I am. He uttered one word over and over, monotonously: "Fool! … Fool!" But invariably the touch of Ruth's hand quieted him, and his head would cease to roll from side to side.
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