But as the students sat about Miss Garvice’s tea-pot and drank tea or smoked cigarettes, the talk got away from Capes. The real Ruth was as completely hidden as though she stood behind the walls of Agra Fort. But I wanted to find out more, partly so I could share it with him. “I was never so clear in all my life as I have been in this business. Her husband stared at her over the candle flame. It was a precious thing, a beautiful cabochon—do you know what that is?” “What’s a cabochon?” “It’s a precious jewel that doesn’t have facets yet. Wood, was pronounced by that lady to be very much sprained; and she, forthwith, proceeded to bathe it with a reddish-coloured lotion. Perhaps she might never come back to that breakfast-room again.
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