She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. Why was she noting things like this? Capes seemed selfpossessed and elaborately genial and commonplace, but she knew him to be nervous by a little occasional clumsiness, by the faintest shadow of vulgarity in the urgency of his hospitality. Probably she mistook you; probably she thought you cared. It hit her just above the knee. "It has been … rather a hard day, Hoddy," Ruth answered. Sheppard, you mean, Sir," interrupted his wife, ironically.
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