" The clock tinkled ten. “Please have a seat. I always fall on my feet, you know. We got your message, but you never stay out this late. Manning’s handwriting had an air of being clear without being easily legible; it was large and rather roundish, with a lack of definition about the letters and a disposition to treat the large ones as liberal-minded people nowadays treat opinions, as all amounting to the same thing really—a yearssmoothed boyish rather than an adult hand. He must have been following her from room to room, silent in his stockinged feet. A woman hard to read, who seemed to delight in keeping locked up behind that fascinating rigidity of feature the intense sensibility which had been revealed to him, her master, only in occasional and rare moments of enthusiasm. But his glance roved, to the door through which Ruth had gone, to Enschede's drooping back.
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