He flung Ruth aside, careless whether she fell or not. There were neither texts nor rubbish on the walls, but only a stirring version of Belshazzar’s feast, a steel engraving in the early Victorian manner that had some satisfactory blacks. She was trying by some wonderful, secret, and motionless gymnastics to restrain her tears. One called her very distinctly “My dear!” Two secretarial posts did indeed seem to offer themselves in which, at least, there was no specific exclusion of womanhood; one was under a Radical Member of Parliament, and the other under a Harley Street doctor, and both men declined her proffered services with the utmost civility and admiration and terror.
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