But her mind was ruffled, and its mirror-like surface of satisfaction was not easily restored. Giles's was lined with spectators. She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study. Her foster father had been outside for most of the morning, working on trimming the maple trees and mowing the lawn. "Ruth?" Silence for a moment. "My heart," rejoined Thames, firmly; "which now tells me I am in the presence of his murderer. Ann Veronica’s universe, which had never been altogether so respectful to her as she could have wished, gave a shout and whirled head over heels.
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