“Did you—did you really think that they would take you for a Frenchman?” she exclaimed. What a pity! For all her ignorance of material things—the human inventions which served the physical comforts of man—how much she knew about man himself! She had seen him bereft of all those spiritual props which permit man to walk on two feet instead of four—broken, without resilience. You understand. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. She should be lifted out of her narrow little life, and it should be all owing to him. Ruth's mind was fertile soil; for a long time to come it would be something of a hothouse: green things would spring up and blossom overnight. G'night, kids.
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