Ruth could tell the doctor; she could bare many of her innermost thoughts to that kindly man; but there was an inexplicable reserve before this young man whom she still endued with the melancholy charm of Sydney Carton. White, my landlady, believes his story. He was alert, well-groomed, and yet—perhaps in contrast with the more volatile French type—there was a suggestion of weight about him, not to say heaviness. The little pucker in her brows became more perceptible. He is an awfully good sort— and now he has come to me to help him if I can. I had done the most compromising things, and behaved in the most ridiculous way. "I'll tell you why," he said. But you have, haven’t you?’ He tutted again. "I've often heard of a secret door in this room, though I never saw it.
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