All the talk in the world would not describe Ruth. She was an indignant queen, no doubt she was alarmed and disgusted within limits; but she was highly excited, and there was something, some low adventurous strain in her being, some element, subtle at least if base, going about the rioting ways and crowded insurgent meeting-places of her mind declaring that the whole affair was after all—they are the only words that express it—a very great lark indeed. To Ruth the thought of Hartford no longer projected upon her vision a city of spires and houses and tree-lined streets. " "What do you think of my sketch, Jack?" said Hogarth, handing him the drawing. The lady's name's engraved inside, but so small I can scarcely read it. She entered the front hall, formerly magnificent, now faded and dusty, the old wood table waiting for guests who would never come. It would not have interested him in the least to learn that the tub ran on two powers—wind and oil. The world, she discovered, with these matters barred had no particular place for her at all, nothing for her to do, except a functionless existence varied by calls, tennis, selected novels, walks, and dusting in her father’s house. “What the devil do you mean by coming for me like that?” Ennison exclaimed, glowering down upon him.
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