"Go to lunch," he ordered Ruth. He picked up the broken fiddle and beckoned. The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about. His eyes never left her face. " "By my soul, no," replied Jonathan, with affected sincerity. I wish”— she found she had embarked on a bad sentence—“I wish we needn’t have quarrelled. One married as he wished and one against his wishes, and now here was Ann Veronica, his little Vee, discontented with her beautiful, safe, and sheltering home, going about with hatless friends to Socialist meetings and art-class dances, and displaying a disposition to carry her scientific ambitions to unwomanly lengths.
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