" The feminine vanities in Ruth were quiescent; nothing had ever occurred in her life to tingle them into action. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. Her father, Bartolomeo, was a well-respected member of the Arte di Calimala: the Wool Makers Guild in Mantua. It was the first day you kissed me, under the willows, coming into Veraz. "In with him!" "Ay—ay, yer hon'r," cried the foremost chairman, lending a helping hand. Naturally it all came out then.
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