She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. She watched for five minutes until he completely disappeared over Pine Crest, past the yellow fire hydrant and the dented stop sign. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. Goopes said she believed in nothing else, and with that she glanced at Ann Veronica, rose a little abruptly, and directed Goopes and the shy young man in the handing of refreshments. " "Your secret?" demanded Trenchard, impatiently. When you've admitted him, steal into the room, hide yourself, and don't move till I utter the words, 'You've a long journey before you. " "Off!" she exclaimed, breaking from his embrace with a scream. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. "So I think," replied Kneebone, again applying to the snuff-box, and by that means escaping the angry glance levelled at him by his companion.
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