The problem had returned, made gigantic by the possibility of Ruth's love. She could not hide her face. Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. She tried gentle words with him, beguiling perfumes, even slipped aphrodisiac tisanes into his soup. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. "Darrell's job was done early this morning," he said; "and if I'd attended to his advice, the packing-case would have been finished at the same time. She told me the tale the other night, and I've only elaborated it. I did not appear, I have never announced myself as ‘Alcide. He was always anticipating, stepping into the future, torturing himself with non-existent troubles. As he returned to the table, he put his finger to his nose; and, though he said nothing, he thought he had a much better chance of winning his wager. He himself had deadened the sound by closing the door. It was the first expression of the mother's blood. ‘It was your son who left the place empty then?’ he asked.
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