Their soft, voluptuous bodies wove among each other to the faint notes of a lyre. Her first impulse was to fly to the window; and she was about to pass through it, at the risk of sharing the fate of the unfortunate lady, when her arm was grasped by some one in the act of ascending the ladder from without. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. “That is very nice of you,” she said. “Where were you?” He inquired, rubbing her shoulders. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. The other kicked over the traces a bit, made rather a hit with her singing at some of those French places, and went the pace in a mild, ladylike sort of way. “I suppose Paris is very, very distracting. . "I understand," she said. ‘Go on, Gerald. What I said about your brat was all stuff.
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