I know nothing of that young lady. Ramage pursed his rather loose lips and shrugged his shoulders, with his eyes fixed steadily upon her. Every now and then something familiar in her tone, the poise of her head, the play of her eyes startled him. The sense of publicity, of people coming and going about them, kept them both unemotional. Ruth wore a printed cotton kimono. The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. Wood, who looks after her comforts, and visits her constantly.
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