" ***** "To me, you dirty blackguard!" cried Spurlock, flinging aside his helmet. "A knowledge of the ways of men. ‘You are Mrs Ibstock, I think,’ she said eagerly. “I should imagine,” he said, shaking out a copy of The Times, “that it is your brain which is addled. His hesitation was visible, and Spurlock took advantage of this to run to Ruth. A radiant smile astonished him. 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. ’ The questions that had long haunted her came out at last. . Why? While the front of his mind was busy warning her not to fall into the hopeless miseries of underpaid teaching, and explaining his idea that for women of initiative, quite as much as for men, the world of business had by far the best chances, the back chambers of his brain were busy with the problem of that “Why?” His first idea as a man of the world was to explain her unrest by a lover, some secret or forbidden or impossible lover.
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