It was the bitterest moment of her life. “Garçon,” he said, “will you ask the gentleman at the next table if he will do me the honour of taking a glass of wine with me. This became very interesting. ” She said fretfully. But for Ruth, he, Howard Spurlock, might have ended upon the beach, inescapably damned. He was confounded by the presence in which he found himself. “Yes. “After all, why should he be surprised?” she remarked. She tried to imagine the collective effect of the Fadden Ball; she had never seen a fancy-dress gathering in her life. She thought of the suitcase, the seventy-seven dollars for a Greyhound ticket that had expired.
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