She went on from street to street, and all the glory of London had departed. ] CHAPTER VIII Slowly Ruth entered her own room. It was eleven o'clock. " "Do you want me to tell her that I am grateful?" "Well, aren't you?" "I don't know; I really don't know. We come out into the world, some of us—” She paused. She was inclined to think that perhaps for a girl the converse of his method was the case; an older man, a man beyond the range of anything “nonsensical,” was, perhaps, the most interesting sort of friend one could meet. That suggested delicacy; and yet her young body was strong and vital. “I might have muddled for a time. You will have a bungalow to yourself," continued McClintock, "and your morning meal will be your own affair. They stopped talking, except to each other. Mountains out of molehills and armies out of windmills; and you'll tire yourself in one direction and shatter yourself in the other.
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