Even that he was an interfering person, if he walked through that door this moment, she would fling herself at him and weep all over his chest. Gerald reached out a hand to stop her. He stood a little anxious and fussy, bothered by the responsibility of her, entirely careless of what her life was or was likely to be, ignoring her thoughts and feelings, ignorant of every fact of importance in her life, explaining everything he could not understand in her as nonsense and perversity, concerned only with a terror of bothers and undesirable situations. “We have a small studio,” she murmured, “in the Rue de St. . "But I'm a blackguard, too, Ruth.
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