“Hospital? What for? What’s the matter with me?” Courtlaw’s voice sank to a whisper. She flung aside every plan she had in life, every discretion. Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. Most of it had been incomprehensible to her, or comprehensible in a way that checked further curiosity, but the figure of Vivien, hard, capable, successful, and bullying, and ordering about a veritable Teddy in the person of Frank Gardner, appealed to her. They are their mother’s sons. They were very nice about it, in memory of your father. "And you will answer it frankly?" "Certainly. No, not one little bit.
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