He did not know the way of love, nor its speech, while he was frightened at his loved one's clear innocence.
In the course of getting acquainted with a varied world, whirling on through the ever changing phases of it, he had learned a rule of conduct which was to the effect that when one played a strange game, he should let the other fellow play first.

This had stood him in good stead a thousand times and trained him as an observer as well.

He knew how to watch the thing that was strange, and to wait for a weakness, for a place of entrance, to divulge itself.

It was like sparring for an opening in fist-fighting.

And when such an opening came, he knew by long experience to play for it and to play hard.
So he waited with Ruth and watched, desiring to speak his love but not daring.