F. Sebastian dared not approach her. The study seemed absolutely unaltered, there was still the same lamp with a little chip out of the shade, still the same gas fire, still the same bundle of blue and white papers, it seemed, with the same pink tape about them, at the elbow of the arm-chair, still the same father. For a time he and Miss Klegg contradicted one another. That did not sound like the name the young man had offered in the tower of the water-clock. When she came in after dinner that night, Ruth was no longer an interesting phenomenon, something figuratively to tear apart and investigate: she was talismanic. Maggot, laughing. Because of the thought of love and companionship? No. He said nothing.
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