" Then he looked at Ruth. As it happens sometimes, the idea stepped down from the dream into the reality; and he saw it more clearly now than he had seen it in the dream. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. “This,” he said, and then: “No! Is this sweeter? Very well. "Look quick, Blueskin, and be cursed to you!" was growled in the deep tones of Jonathan Wild. The night was now advancing, and the party began to think of separating. He turned in at the club. And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account. The man’s passion became almost unbearable at the thought of losing her. He looked about for his hat, and put it on. There was still the pity of understanding in Ruth's eyes.
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