" "I cannot repent,—I cannot pray," replied Jack, recovering his hardened demeanour. She drank it obediently. As soon as dinner was over she went into the kitchen and devoted herself to compiling a tray—not a tray merely of halfcooled dinner things, but a specially prepared “nice” tray, suitable for tempting any one. She shook her head. It was the grand nursery of vice. “You are the type that I want to marry someday, you’ve got a beautiful body, such pretty eyes. “Oh God!” she cried, “Oh God!” and flung aside her opera-cloak, and for a time walked about the room—a Corsair’s bride at a crisis of emotion. They found Ruth reading to Spurlock, whose shoulders and head were propped by pillows. Don’t take my word for it though. Once she reached the bamboo curtain, clutched at it and tore it down as his arms went around her waist. "Thank you," she said, and left the office.
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