It was cheating, pitiful cheating. Our ideal had fallen. That boy—blind as a bat! Why, he hadn't seen the Woman until to-night! From the first chord of the Grieg concerto to the finale of the Chopin ballade, Ruth had sat tensely on the edge of her chair. She, perhaps, displayed herself rather consciously as a fine person unduly limited. ‘I do not understand you. “I find it very hard to write this letter. At night she would turn it in her fingers like a rosary bead. From thoughts of fame to thoughts of mere bread and butter! It seemed to Spurlock that he had tumbled off the edge of Somewhere into the abyss of Nowhere. A vague desire to justify himself ruffled her father.
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