" "A novelist?" cried Ruth, thrilling. “The fact of it is, and this absurd project of yours only brings it to a head, you have begun to get hold of some very queer ideas about what a young lady in your position may or may not venture to do. Plays Beethoven, Rubenstein and all those chaps. The pearls were really yours?" "They were left to me by my mother. My letters are returned unopened, her maid will not even allow me across the doorstep. Both arm-chairs had been moved a little so as to face each other on either side of the fender, and in the circular glow of the green-shaded lamp there lay, conspicuously waiting, a thick bundle of blue and white papers tied with pink tape.
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