She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets. ‘And you know, my dear, I do think you must make up your mind to beard this wretched grandfather of yours. 'He that woos a maid',— fol-de-rol—(hiccupping). "What is it?" "Can't you see? Together, down there; you and I!… As my wife! Both of us, never to be lonely again!… Will you marry me, Ruth?" As many a wiser woman had done, Ruth mistook thrilling eagerness for love. Her nerves were shattered, her senses dazed by this unexpected shock.
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