CHAPTER XXIII Next morning Ruth did not refer to the episode on the sands of the lagoon. Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. ‘No, for you had your own selfish plans already made, that is now seen. Sir John heard gossip about us—about Anna the recluse, a paragon of virtue, and Annabel alias ‘Alcide’ a dancer at the cafés chantants, and concerning whom there were many stories which were false, and a few—which were true. She had suddenly become as the jewels of the Madonna, as the idol's eye, infinitely beyond his reach, sacred. I wanted to speak to you first. “You know of no one likely to have had a grudge against this man?” he asked. She’s right upstairs. Neither of them believed me.
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