"Sir Rowland must be gone. Seeing Capes from day to day made a bright eventfulness that hampered her in the course she had resolved to follow. The wine bubbled and seethed; and the exquisite bouquet of oranges permeated the room. It had been part of her wedding trousseau, a gift from her family to his. And this was an adventure of which he had dreamed from boyhood: aboard a windjammer on the South Seas. 26 His duties were to make certain that she was eating right and not exposing herself to foul odors and cold drafts. Those awful chairs!" After dinner the spinsters proceeded to inscribe their accustomed quota of postcards, and Ruth was left to herself.
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