“Would you mind calling that hansom for me?” He looked at it critically and shook his head. Believe me, the bitterness of it has almost departed, crushed out of me together with much of the weariness and sorrow I brought with me here by the nameless glory of these lonely months. Maggot. Are you going to write a novel?” “Not I,” she answered gaily. Your kid has already brought me good luck, and may bring me still more if his edication's attended to. That he was immolating Ruth on the altar of his conscience never broke in upon his thought for consideration. Of course. That boy—blind as a bat! Why, he hadn't seen the Woman until to-night! From the first chord of the Grieg concerto to the finale of the Chopin ballade, Ruth had sat tensely on the edge of her chair. It will not cost you more than six hundred to reach your destination.
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