A momentary petrifaction, and terror had lent wings to her feet. Lucy grabbed the hand cannon, stuffing it with powder, nearly missing a swing of the sword meant for her neck. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. She had looked forward to an explanation. ‘You see,’ he pursued blandly, ‘I lead a life of the most intolerable boredom. He heard me; but he never came in to ask what was the matter. Then she realized that it was her business to let Manning talk and impose his own interpretations upon the situation so far as he was concerned. He saw now that it was merely a boy.
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