Curiosity to see what a sing-song girl was like took possession of Ruth's thoughts. No breakfast, he’s had no dinner, hardly a mouthful of soup— since yesterday at tea. Presently he became filled with astonishment over the singular fact that Ruth was eluding him in fancy as well as in reality. Ruth flashed in and out of the sunshine; and he took note of the radiant nimbus above her head each time the sunshine touched her hair. I think I asked if I could eat lunch with her and Trisha Deere one day and she said there was no room at the table. We’re the hysterical animal, Mr. Spurling.
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