A few minutes later she left the house on foot, and taking a hansom at the corner of the Square, drove to Anna’s flat. “My dear Anna,” he answered. Ruth crossed over to the dramatist of this tragicomedy and put a hand on his shoulder. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. Tom Sheppard was always a close file, and would never tell whom he married. Her heart in her mouth, she heard his foot scrape on the floorboard and knew from his expression that Gosse had heard it too.
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