There was one letter. The solemn strokes were immediately answered by a multitude of chimes, sounding across the Thames, amongst which the deep note of Saint Paul's was plainly distinguishable. "What is it?" "Can't you see? Together, down there; you and I!… As my wife! Both of us, never to be lonely again!… Will you marry me, Ruth?" As many a wiser woman had done, Ruth mistook thrilling eagerness for love. Once she stopped in front of a mirror and looked at herself thoughtfully. “Have you any money?” “Lots,” Anna answered laconically. “That’s not working so well for you, is it?” She looked at him sheepishly, bringing a Kleenex out of her pocket to wipe away the excess. He drew her away from this thought. It would have saved me much circumlocution, and you some suspense. She was fatigued physically and mentally, and neither mind nor body could rest. It was Annabel’s.
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