Ruth was not a woman; she was a phenomenon. “I do not like to seem inhospitable, Anna,” she said hesitatingly. “Mine is a primitive and unstudied manner. . ‘Adieu, imbecile,’ she threw at him gleefully. “It was your own fault,” she exclaimed. "Why do you ask?" rejoined the other haughtily. She went past three keenly observant and ostentatiously preoccupied waiters down the thickcarpeted staircase and out of the Hotel Rococo, that remarkable laboratory of relationships, past a tall porter in blue and crimson, into a cool, clear night. The door popped open with a sigh. "Rot, weren't they?" "No. ‘Gone!’ he said. Anna raised her eyebrows at the sight of him. It is the worst of talk under such social circumstances that it is always getting cut off so soon as it is beginning; and I went home that afternoon feeling I had said nothing—literally nothing—of the things I had meant to say to you and that were coursing through my head.
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