" Jack started to his feet; but before he could defend himself, his right arm was grasped by the Jew who had silently approached him. ’ She looked up again and smiled sweetly. He sat down beside her just as the room became darker. "Where to, master?" asked Ben, touching his woollen cap. It was a large, littered, self-forgetful apartment, decorated with unframed charcoal sketches by various incipient masters; and an open bookcase, surmounted by plaster casts and the half of a human skull, displayed an odd miscellany of books—Shaw and Swinburne, Tom Jones, Fabian Essays, Pope and Dumas, cheek by jowl. Was she so fearful still? Roding shrugged and grimaced. She had eaten them. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. “I wish that I could forget it,” he said. “My friend,” she said, “I have been your pupil for two years. It would have been the right idea, had Ruth been other than what she was. No more did she offer her forehead for the good-night kiss.
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