As the novel grew Ruth was astonished to see herself enter and dominate it: sometimes as she actually was, with all her dreams reviewed—as if he had caught her talking in her sleep. There was first the Avenue, which ran in a consciously elegant curve from the railway station into an undeveloped wilderness of agriculture, with big, yellow brick villas on either side, and then there was the pavement, the little clump of shops about the postoffice, and under the railway arch was a congestion of workmen’s dwellings. “You have put all your life in my hands,” he declared. She noticed that this trunk was not littered with hotel labels. As soon as dinner was over she went into the kitchen and devoted herself to compiling a tray—not a tray merely of halfcooled dinner things, but a specially prepared “nice” tray, suitable for tempting any one. ” “Not in the least,” she assured him. " "You may rest assured he does not," rejoined Kneebone, emphatically, "but I am at a loss to understand in what way your father proposes to assist him. " "But, Lord, man!—don't you ever get lonesome?" "Don't you?" "I'm too busy. ‘Jarvis Remenham was your mother’s father. He lowered himself onto her and entered her slowly, an inch at a time.
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