There was no marriage, and I hated, oh, how I hated the man. If I told you the facts, I expect, since you are in love with me, you’d explain the whole business as being very fine and honorable for me—the Higher Morality, or something of that sort. ‘I know just what he was doing. I have an aunt who is coming to live with me, and I do not intend to receive any visitors at all. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. "Eh-day! what's this?" cried Wood, looking up from beneath his spectacles. She took up a book and threw it down again. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. 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.
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