It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. In doing so, he had to clamber up the immense heap of bricks and rubbish which now littered the floor, amounting almost to a car-load, and reaching up nearly to the top of the chimney-piece. Certain it was, that the slightest sound aroused him. She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. “I’ll go,” she vowed to the night, “or I’ll die!” She made plans and estimated means and resources. ’ He bowed. Assessing him as harmless, she had remained friendly, albeit aloof. "Are you returning to Hong-Kong to-morrow by the day boat?" For a moment Ruth was astonished at the sound of the spinster's voice. " "Egad, Jack," said Gay, "you should write your adventures. ” “Why?” “If I were bad at it, you would be on your way to the hospital by now. "You are free," said he, "that grating forms a ladder, by which you may descend in safety. "I give you all of my genius, and you say—'Get out!' I am some kind of a dog. "If you don't stop its squalling, I will. He opened the door of still another room, in one corner of which was a grand piano.
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