Nothing ensued. That dress she has on—my mother might have worn it. Did she suppose him a possible pretender to her daughter’s hand? The girl—Dorothée, if memory served—was clearly marriageable, but he imagined most of these unhappy exiles were all but penniless. This time she was indeed beaten. She also knew that he was the type who would not make a single physical overture until she pushed the correct buttons. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. Anna leaned over so that he needed only to whisper. At least one of them was caught and put away. The doctor and Anna were left alone.
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