It had seemed so natural a moment before, it was so hideously suggestive now.
Perhaps Lady Hope-Acton would pass on through the other door, so widely, so invitingly open.

Neither stirred, in the hope that she might do so.
But in the centre of the room she stopped and sighed--the slow, crackling sigh of a stout woman in a too well-fitting silk gown.
Charles suddenly felt as if his muddy boots and cords were trying to catch her eye, as if every book on the shelves were calling to her to look up.
For a second Ruth and Charles gazed down upon the top of Lady Hope-Acton's head, the bald place on which showed dimly through her semi-transparent cap.

She moved slightly, as if to go; but no, another step was drawing near.

In another moment Lady Grace came in through the opposite door in her riding-habit.
Ruth felt that it was now or never for a warning cough; but, as she glanced at Charles kneeling beside her, she could not give it.

Surely they would pass out in another second.