When her shock and the headache subsided, and she remembered that she had been reading the letter when Gosse had accosted her, she looked for it in vain. ‘To where has he gone off?’ ‘No use asking me,’ shrugged the captain. For if Gerald had indeed gone to see this Prudence, it was better to wait for his report. “They might do you good,” she remarked. ‘You did not find Gosse, that is seen, but—’ ‘Gosse? Gosse? Who’s this here Gosse then?’ ‘He is the Frenchman of whom I told you. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. The doctor's smile is singular; there is no other smile that reaches the same level.
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