As Ruth gazed upon this negligent apparition, it suddenly moved, and the next instant it stood up in the sunshine and faced her, hat in one hand, pipe in the other.
"Mornin'" said Tots. "Got somethin' nice for breakfast?" His brown face smiled imperturbably upon her. He looked pleased to see her, but not extravagantly so.
Ruth fell back a step from the window, her roses clutched fast against her. She was for the moment speechless.
Tots continued to smile sociably.
"Nice, quiet little place—this," he said. "There's a touch of the antediluvian about it that I like. Good idea of yours, comin' here. No one to get in the way. It won't be disturbin' you if I sit on the window-sill while you have your breakfast?"
Ruth experienced a sudden, hysterical desire to laugh. He was beyond her, this man—utterly, hopelessly beyond her.
She sat down at the table, not with the idea of eating anything, but from a sense of sheer helplessness. Tots knocked the ashes from his pipe and took his seat on the window-sill. He did not seem to be aware of any strain in the situation.
After a pause, during which Ruth sat motionless, he turned a little to survey her.
"Not begun yet?" he queried.
She looked back at him with a species of desperate courage.