She looked away, half expecting the sound of the music, and the roses, and palms, and Gerry Hull would vanish
Lady Agnes came out looking for him; and he called her over:
“Oh, Agnes, here we are!”
So Ruth met Lady Agnes, too; but Lady Agnes took him away, laughingly scolding him for having left her so long alone among all those American people. Ruth did not follow; and while she lingered beside the bench where he had sat with her, she warned herself that Gerry Hull had paid her attention as a man of his breeding would have paid any girl whom he had been brought out to meet. Then the blood, warm within her, insisted that he had not disliked her; he had even liked her for herself.
The approach of an elderly woman in a gray dress returned Ruth to the realities and the risks of the fraud she had been playing to win Gerry Hull’s liking. For the woman gazed at her questioningly and swiftly came up.
Ruth arose. Was this Hubert Lennon’s “Aunt Emilie?” she wondered. Had she recently seen the real Cynthia so that she was aware that Ruth was not she?
No; the woman was calling her Cynthia; and with the careful enunciation of the syllables, Ruth recognized the voice as that which had addressed her over the telephone when she was in her room at the hotel.
“Cynthia, you are doing well—excellently!” This could refer only to the fact that she had met Gerry Hull already and had not displeased him. “Develop this opportunity to the utmost; you may find him of greatest possible use when you are in France!”