And
something told him that Ruth would not like Hank.
But these shadows were not frequent. Ruth filled his life too
completely to allow him leisure to brood on possibilities of future
trouble.
Looking back, it struck him that on their wedding-day they had been
almost strangers. They had taken each other blindly, trusting to
instinct. Since then he had been getting to know her. It was
astonishing how much there was to know. There was a fresh discovery to
be made about her every day. She was a perpetually recurring miracle.
The futility of his old life made him wince whenever he dared think of
it. How he had drifted, a useless log on a sluggish current!
He was certainly a whole-hearted convert. As to Saul of Tarsus, so to
him there had come a sudden blinding light. He could hardly believe
that he was the same person who had scoffed at the idea of a man giving
up his life to one woman and being happy. But then the abstract wife
had been a pale, bloodless phantom, and Ruth was real.
It was the realness of her that kept him in a state of perpetual
amazement. To see her moving about the studio, to touch her, to look at
her across the dinner-table, to wake in the night and hear her
breathing at his side.... It seemed to him that centuries might pass,
yet these things would still be wonderful.
And always in his heart there was the gratitude for what she had done
for him.
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