“Suppose you call me by my proper name,” she said quietly. She was inclined to think that perhaps for a girl the converse of his method was the case; an older man, a man beyond the range of anything “nonsensical,” was, perhaps, the most interesting sort of friend one could meet. To Ruth the thought of Hartford no longer projected upon her vision a city of spires and houses and tree-lined streets. She was as fair as the lily of the lotus. However good you were to me, and however happy I was in other ways, I should find this intolerable. He talked with his manner gentle and kindly. Other phrases returned now, like echoes. . . “You are their friend, then?” “I am,” Courtlaw answered. But it was the form of her ruling determination; it was the only form that she ever allowed to see daylight. But it would be too risky. No more scuffling. His vicious abusiveness vanished.
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