" The feminine vanities in Ruth were quiescent; nothing had ever occurred in her life to tingle them into action. Courtlaw found himself ushered without questions into Annabel’s long low drawing-room, fragrant with flowers and somewhat to his surprise, crowded with guests. But what the deuce! He was human; he was a machine only when on the hunt. Men are always doing it, and if you set up to be a man—” “No, it’s absolutely out of the question, Mr. There sat Jack, evidently in the last stage of intoxication, with his collar opened, his dress disarranged, a pipe in his mouth, a bowl of punch and a halfemptied rummer before him,—there he sat, receiving and returning, or rather attempting to return,—for he was almost past consciousness,—the blandishments of a couple of females, one of whom had passed her arm round his neck, while the other leaned over the back of his chair and appeared from her gestures to be whispering soft nonsense into his ear. She was a woman now to the tips of her fingers; she had said good-bye to her girlhood in the old garden four years and a quarter ago. Why should God give particular attention to such a prayer, when He had ignored all others? Certainly there was a trap somewhere. She felt a hysterical desire to strike him, to burst out crying, to blurt out the whole miserable truth. .
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