. . "That's fine," said O'Higgins. He hadn't played fair. "I'm prudence personified. ‘Come, cry a truce. " The feminine vanities in Ruth were quiescent; nothing had ever occurred in her life to tingle them into action. But she made a pretence of struggling a little, for it would be out of character for her not to do so and she did not want to arouse his suspicions. ‘Do you think I could endure to hear you prattling your abominable French in my ear day by day? Enough to drive me straight into my grave. I trust that she will not misunderstand me. ‘Who, the émigrés?’ ‘Do I speak of the English, imbecile? Certainly the émigrés.
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