He waved to her. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. “I think,” she said, “that I would rather not have anything to say about that man. Do you remember when we went right away, Nigel, and forgot everything? We went down the river past Veraz, and the larks were singing all over those deep brown fields, and the river further on wound its way like a coil of silver across the rich meadowland, and along the hillside vineyards. I like such interviews. His own heart was too full of melancholy foreboding. E. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently.
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