He was smiling under his heavy mustache, and his head was a little on one side as he looked at her. He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. ‘How do you know?’ ‘Exactly,’ pounced Roding bitterly. She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik. ’ ‘You mean I need not have said it? Damnation. 97 “For what, kiddo?” Larry turned his head slightly to one side. It was maddening to be made to feel that he was in any way the inferior of this cool, self-possessed young woman, whose eyes seemed for a moment to scintillate with scorn. He had only to recall this fact (which he did in each crisis) to erect a barrier she could not go around or over. ‘I’ve never found a woman who did not drive me into a frenzy of boredom.
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