He used to call it his fire-escape—ha! ha! I've often used the ladder for my own convenience, but I never expected to turn it to such good account. Everything was blurred. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. One peculiarity she did not fail to notice. It had been Ann Veronica’s lot as the youngest child to live in a home that became less animated and various as she grew up. “But don’t you know about me?” he said at last. .
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