He went to the door. But never had the hand touched her with a father's caress; never had he taken her into his arms; never had he kissed her. Jacques, Jacques!’ His face was white, but his eyes were open, if a trifle glazed. For fifteen years!—so long as I can remember! All I wanted was a little love, a caress now and then. "Time to dress for dinner," said Ruth from behind the curtain. ‘If you care for me at all, shoot me. The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity.
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