He sent a speculative glance at the immobile yellow face. ” “It’s an unrest—a longing—What’s that?” The waiter had intervened. Her feathered hat fell from her head and down her back, and she felt fingers writhing in the mass of her hair and caressing the flesh of her neck beneath so that she shivered uncontrollably. He wondered if, after all, McClintock wasn't nearest the truth, that Ruth was one of those unfortunate yet innocent women who make havoc with the hearts of men. ’ He thought a wary look came into her face, but it was difficult to be sure.
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