Ruth hugged the envelope and McClintock, with the end of a burnt match, drew a cabalistic sign. “Tiffany’s?” He looked at her comically. Do you know whoso portrait this is?" "I do not," replied Thames, repressing his tears, "but I believe it to be the portrait of my father. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. " "Of what am I accused?" asked Thames, who though a good deal alarmed at first, had now regained his courage. He was really very proud of her, and extraordinarily angry and resentful at the innocent and audacious selfreliance that seemed to intimate her sense of absolute independence of him, her absolute security without him. There was the world besides, looming darker and larger. "Noblemen. Kneebone smiled assent. "Surely," she said, after a pause, "you don't attach any importance to what my mother has just said. She told him the story of her parents, her marriage to Iovelli, the loss of her baby, the kidnapping after the miscarriage. Then he slapped his hand on his desk and looked up with the air of a man struck by a brilliant idea. ” She laughed at him easily and mirthfully. The door closed softly upon her. Three times he uttered a phrase: "A djinn in a blue-serge coat!" And each time he would follow it with a chuckle—the chuckle of a soul in damnation.
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