Part 3 She dressed carefully for dinner in a black dress that her father liked, and that made her look serious and responsible. "Look at him!" Ruth looked. She felt the need to get dressed, sensing that his parents would be home soon. At the sight of her he became rigid and a singularly bright shade of pink. The youth produced a crumpled-up card from his waistcoat pocket. She turned into the study, sat down at the table and fingered the pencils, curiously stirred. At the thought of the major, her tears redoubled and she was obliged to rip off a piece from the remnants of her already maltreated underpetticoats with which to blow her nose and soak the damp from her cheeks. “I may not see the Widgetts for some little time, father,” she said.
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