There was a gulf of eight years between her and the youngest of her brace of sisters—an impassable gulf inhabited chaotically by two noisy brothers. "In my opinion, Sir Rowland," suggested Jonathan; "you'd better allow the court to remain open. ‘But I’m hanged if I know why you find it so amusing. As for this infatuation—it’s like some obsession, some magic thing laid upon you. There was no longer any risk in association with her. Eventually this comradeship (slightly resented by Rollo) reached a point where he could call out from the study: "Hey, Ruth!—come and tell me what you think of this. Her back arched slightly in response. But in a moment she believed she understood. Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself.
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