Ruth is not another man's wife; she is all your own, for better or for worse. It was a mad half-hour. “DEAREST A—— “I lied to you. ’ Miss Froxfield intervened quickly as her betrothed showed signs of erupting again. “Maybe I should have stayed home. “Splendid it must be to be a composer. A solemn consideration, when I enter a great city at night, that every one of those darkly clustered houses encloses its own secret; that every room in every one of them encloses its own secret; that every beating heart in the hundreds of thousands of breasts there, is, in some of its imaginings, a secret to the heart nearest it!' … It kind of terrifies me," said Ruth, looking up, first at the face of her husband, then at McClintock's. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. After an hour of waiting, she slammed her bedroom door and he returned to his basement.
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