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Updated: June 3, 2025
He knew quite well who I was, and he never told me." Thus was the first link of the chain riveted. Seymour Michael winced. He never raised his eyes. Mark Ruthine moved forward again. He did so with a singular rapidity, for he had seen murder flash from beneath Jem Agar's eyebrows. He was standing between them, his left hand gripping Jem's right arm with an undeniable strength.
He had not forgotten Jem's threat, but he felt the safeguard of a lady's presence. "I can offer an explanation," put in Mark Ruthine. "This man is mentally incapable of telling the truth and of doing the straight thing. There are some people who are born liars. This man is one. It is not quite fair to judge him as one would judge others.
"I asked Mark Buthine," he said, "to come ashore with me, because I had reason to suspect your good faith. I can't see now why you should have done this, but I suppose that people who are born liars, as Ruthine says you are, prefer lying to telling the truth. You are coming down now with Ruthine and myself to Stagholme.
He paused for a moment, as if at a loss, and drew his brown hand down over his moustache. Perhaps he felt remotely that his position was strong and almost dramatic; but that, being a simple, honest Englishman, he was unable to turn it to account. He turned towards Seymour Michael, who stood behind, uncomfortably conscious of Mark Ruthine at his heels. It was not in Jem to make an effective scene.
Mark Ruthine he knew, and him he distrusted, with that quiet keenness of observation which was his. "Now," he said eagerly to Jem, "what I thought we might do was to have a little breakfast and catch the eleven o'clock train up to town. If Ruthine will join us, I for one shall be very pleased. He won't mind our talking shop."
There was something that melted her heart strangely in the sight of those two men friends standing side by side; and at that moment her affection went out towards Mark Ruthine, the friend of Jem, who understood Jem, who knew Jem and loved him, perhaps, a thousandth part as well as she did; an affection which was never withdrawn all through their lives.
Mark Ruthine looked into the pleasant face and saw a back to the question many backs, extending away into a perspective of feminine speculation. "No," he answered slowly. They lapsed into a little silence. And then they both looked up, and saw Norah Hood walking slowly backwards and forwards with Manly Fenn of the Guides.
Some few of the Mahanaddy passengers have remarked that Mark Ruthine invariably locks his cabin-door whenever he leaves the little den that serves him for surgery and home. This is the outward sign of an inward unforgotten sore. This, by the way, is not a moral tale. Virtue does not triumph, nor will vice be crushed.
Then he beckoned to Jem. "I have sent for the local doctor," he said to him. "But I should advise having some one else Llandoller from Harley Street. This is far above our heads." "Telegraph for him," answered Jem Agar. While Ruthine wrote he went on speaking. "We must get him upstairs at once," he said. "I should like to have him in bed before the doctor comes."
This love which had come to her suddenly rather late in her life had made a strange being of her. She was still gentle, and rather prim and quite self- possessed. She looked Ruthine in the face, and knew that he knew all about her; but she was not in the least discomposed. She was astonishingly daring. She defied him and the whole world gently.
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