The chance had gone. Never for a moment had violence come between these two since long ago he had, in spite of her mother’s protest in the background, carried her kicking and squalling to the nursery for some forgotten crime. But there was, it insisted, no mobility in his face, no movement, nothing about him that warmed. Ruth was at that stage where the absorption of facts is great, but where the mental digestion is not quite equal to the task. It struck the major that she was very young. ‘Yes, a very sad story,’ agreed the major. ‘She won’t confide in you? Now, why?’ ‘Because that scoundrel Leonardo drummed it into her head that no man was to be trusted,’ Gerald announced viciously. ‘That is a very English name.
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