"You have so much the air of a conqueror," she said. "You look as though you had courage and determination. One could see that by your mouth. And yet you are so much like the men of your nation, so stolid, so certain to move along the narrow lines which convention has drawn for you. Oh! if I could," she went on, leaning towards him and looking intently into his face, "I would borrow the magic from somewhere and mix a little in your wine, so that you should drink and feel the desire for new things; so that the world of Tooley Street should seem to you as though it belonged to a place inhabited only by inferior beings; so that you should feel new blood in your veins, hot blood crying for adventures, a new heart beating to a new music. I would like, if I could, Arnold, to bring those things into your life." He turned and looked at her. Her face was within a few inches of his. She was in earnest. The gleam in her eyes was half-provocative, half a challenge. Arnold rose uneasily to his feet. "I must go back," he said, a little thickly. "I forgot that Ruth is so shy. She will be frightened alone." He walked away down the pergola without even waiting for her. It was very rude, but she only leaned back in her chair and laughed. In a way, it was a triumph! CHAPTER XXI ARNOLD SPEAKS OUT Ruth was still alone, and her welcome was almost pathetic. She stretched out her arms--long, thin arms they seemed in the tight black sleeves of her worn gown. She had discarded her carefully mended gloves and her hands were bare. "Arnold," she murmured, "how long you have been away!" He threw himself on the grass by her side. "Silly little woman!" he answered. "Don't tell me that you are not enjoying it?" "It is all wonderful," she whispered, "but can't you see that I am out of place? When could we go, Arnie?" "Are you so anxious to get away?" he asked, lazily. "In a way, I should be content to stay here for ever," she answered. "If you and I only could be here--why, Arnold, it is like Heaven! Just close your eyes as I have been doing--like that. Now listen. There isn't any undernote, none of that ceaseless, awful monotony of sound that seems like the falling of weary men's feet upon the eternal pavement. Listen--there is a bird singing somewhere in that tree, and the water goes lapping and lapping and lapping, as though it had something pleasant to say but were too lazy to say it. And every now and then, if you listen very intently, you can hear laughing voices through the trees there from the river, laughter from people who are happy, who are sailing on somewhere to find their city of pleasure. And the perfumes, Arnold! I don't know what the rose garden is like, but even from here I can smell it. It is wonderful." "Yet you ask me when we are going," he reminded her. She shivered for a moment.