It was the realness of her that kept him in a state of perpetualamazement

　　It was the realness of her that kept him in a state of perpetualamazement. To see her moving about the studio, to touch her, to look ather across the dinner-table, to wake in the night and hear herbreathing 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 donefor him. She had given up everything to share his life. She had weighedhim in the balance against wealth and comfort and her place among thegreat ones of the world, and had chosen him. There were times when thethought filled him with a kind of delirious pride: times, again, whenhe felt a grateful humility that made him long to fall down and worshipthis goddess who had stooped to him.
　　In a word, he was very young, very much in love, and for the first timein his life was living with every drop of blood in his veins.
　　* * * * *Hank returned to New York in due course. He came to the studio the samenight, and he had not been there five minutes before a leaden weightdescended on Kirk's soul. It was as he had feared. Ruth did not likehim.
　　Hank was not the sort of man who makes universal appeal. Also, he wasno ladies' man. He was long and lean and hard-bitten, and his supply ofconventional small talk was practically non-existent. To get the bestout of Hank, as has been said, you had to let him take his coat off andput his feet up on the back of a second chair and reconcile yourself tothe pestiferous brand of tobacco which he affected.
　　Ruth conceded none of these things. Throughout the interview Hank satbolt upright, tucking a pair of shoes of the dreadnought class coylyunderneath his chair, and drew suspiciously at Turkish cigarettes fromKirk's case. An air of constraint hung over the party. Again and againKirk hoped that Hank would embark on the epic of his life, but shynesskept Hank dumb.
　　He had heard, on reaching New York, that Kirk was married, but he hadlearned no details, and had conjured up in his mind the vision of ajolly little girl of the Bohemian type, who would make a fuss over himas Kirk's oldest friend. Confronted with Ruth, he lost a nerve whichhad never before failed him. This gorgeous creature, he felt, wouldnever put up with those racy descriptions of wild adventures which hadendeared him to Kirk. As soon as he could decently do so, he left, andKirk, returning to the studio after seeing him out, sat down moodily,trying to convince himself against his judgment that the visit had notbeen such a failure after all.
　　Ruth was playing the piano softly. She had turned out all the lightsexcept one, which hung above her head, shining on her white arms asthey moved. From where he sat Kirk could see her profile. Her eyes werehalf closed.
　　The sight of her, as it always did, sent a thrill through him, but hewas conscious of an ache behind it. He had hoped so much that Hankwould pass, and he knew that he had not. Why was it that two people socompletely one as Ruth and himself could not see Hank with the sameeyes?
　　He knew that she had thought him uncouth and impossible. Why could notHank have exerted himself more, instead of sitting there in thatstuffed way? Why could not Ruth have unbent? Why had not he himselfdone something to save the situation? Of the three, he blamed himselfmost. He was the one who should have taken the lead and made thingspleasant for everybody instead of forcing out conversationalplatitudes.