Ruth stared into the painted face, now sundrily cracked by the coursing tears. Her gratitude swelled within her. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. ’ I wanted, as I have never wanted before, to take you up, to make you mine, to carry you off and set you apart from all the strain and turmoil of life. At luncheon, on the third day, a thick-set man with a blue jaw smiled across his table at her. His hand rested heavily and cruelly upon Ruth's shoulder. A moment more and he would have been crushed beneath the ponderous board, when a slight but strong arm arrested its descent. . Suddenly he burst into wild laughter; but equally as suddenly something strangled the sound in his throat. And then this girl had to sweep into and out of his life! He recalled McClintock's comment about Spurlock being the kind that fell soft. He slid out of her. Considering his convictions he felt that his remark was a generous one.
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