” “What do you mean—by too late?” he demanded. “Intolerable idiots!. Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall. "Ah! Owen Wood, is it you?" cried David in astonishment. " "For a bit of kindness?" Ruth was plainly bewildered. At the same time,” she added, in a suddenly altered tone, “it isn’t anything whatever to do with you, is it?” “Why not?” he answered. That was an admission all right. Do you know, I am beginning to believe that we only exist nowadays by the tolerance of these millionaire tradesmen.
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