It was difficult to regard Lord Halloway as tarnished when you looked at his splendid body. His healthy physical handsomeness seemed an excuse for his transgressions. He upset all your ideas of the degrading influences of immorality.
After Christmas I had Ruthita down to stay at Oxford. We were walking along the tow-path towards Iffley on the afternoon of her arrival, when the Lazarus Eight went by. Halloway was mounted, riding along the bank, shouting orders to the cox. As he passed us, he recognized Ruthita. I saw her color flame up. She halted abruptly, following him with her eyes round the bend of the river.
“Shall we meet them again if we go on?”
I told her we should be certain to meet them, as they would turn at Iffley Lock.
“But I don’t want to meet them.” Then, in a whisper, “I’m afraid of him, Dante.”
We retraced our steps to Folly Bridge and walked out to Hinksey to avoid him.
“You’re an odd little creature, Ruthie. Why on earth should you be afraid of him? He can’t do you any harm.”
“It’s his eyes. When he looks at me so hard, I forget all that I know about him, and begin to like him. And then, when he’s gone, I come to myself and feel humiliated.”
Now that I had found someone who would run him down, I changed sides and began to plead his cause. “Seems to me it’s a bit rough on the chap to remember his old faults. He’s quite changed.”
“But the woman at Ransby hasn’t,” she retorted bitterly. “He didn’t leave her a chance.”