‘What is it?’ asked Roding. Has your ladyship any further commands?" "None whatever. The weather's been foul enough for the last fortnight, but I've never turned my back upon it. And yet to Spurlock it was only the title of a story he would some day write. Look in the small hide-bound book that he keeps in his boot. Her eyes filled as she thought of him, the image of his laughing countenance coming into her mind, to be swiftly followed by a vision of the blood running from his cut hand. Ruth and Spurlock separated, the one embarrassed, the other utterly dumfounded. Already she knew that she was overstaying her welcome. “Cheveney!” she repeated. She felt that for a time at any rate her depressing struggle against continual failure was at an end. He was halfway across the ballroom, where the dancing had ceased for the musicians to take a well-earned rest, when Roding pounced on him.
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