But it was hopelessly hard to put. No! I do not even know that he cares for me. She didn’t choose her man. It was a large, littered, self-forgetful apartment, decorated with unframed charcoal sketches by various incipient masters; and an open bookcase, surmounted by plaster casts and the half of a human skull, displayed an odd miscellany of books—Shaw and Swinburne, Tom Jones, Fabian Essays, Pope and Dumas, cheek by jowl. The real Ruth was as completely hidden as though she stood behind the walls of Agra Fort. It was still profoundly dark; but the wind, which had begun to blow with some violence, chased the clouds rapidly across the heavens, and dispersed the vapours hanging nearer the earth. She drew a chair to the window and stared at the splendour of the tropical night. "It won't do to betray the officer," he muttered. "Ah! Quilt Arnold, my man, is it you? By the powers! I'm glad to see you.
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