"What's that to you?" retorted Jack, surlily. Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. ’ ‘So I infer. “Second class,” said some one, but first and second were all alike to her. It was in the quiet streets and squares toward Oxford Street that it first came into her head disagreeably that she herself was being followed. It’s these damned novels. There was no way to warn her of his presence without startling her. I’ll give you, say, thirty-five guineas a week clear of expenses, and half of anything you earn above the two turns a night. “You love some one else?” he repeated.
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