He could not tell by the look of her whether she was glad or sorry that presently she would be free. The wish was vain: and, endeavouring to banish every earthly thought, he addressed himself deeply and sincerely to prayer. Go, and let him in. “My only answer would be to ask you to look at that mirror and then at the poster. He would be off her case just as soon as his fever for her broke and he found a lover, and she imagined he must have plenty of girls from ritzy families lining up to choose from. “Now,” he said, “no one can blunder in upon us. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. Earles himself stood upon the threshold of his sanctum, the prototype of the smart natty Jew, with black hair, waxed moustache, and a wired flower in his button-hole. How fortunate that she recognises the resemblance.
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