The wastrel, the ne'er-do-well, who went mostly nobly to a fine end. A tarnish of constraint that had recently spread over her intercourse with Capes vanished again. And this utter stranger … loved him! He had no reason to doubt McClintock's statement; the Scot had solved the riddle why Ruth Enschede had married Howard Spurlock. It was only a few months ago that I told you you must come to London, and you only laughed at me. Have you been inhaling the fumes inside Missy’s car?” She had pushed the exact right button. For a moment she too had started and faltered in her exit from the room. The ripple of the water against the boat, as its keel cleaves through the stream—the darkling current hurrying by—the indistinctly-seen craft, of all forms and all sizes, hovering around, and making their way in ghostlike silence, or warning each other of their approach by cries, that, heard from afar, have something doleful in their note—the solemn shadows cast by the bridges—the deeper gloom of the echoing arches—the lights glimmering from the banks—the red reflection thrown upon the waves by a fire kindled on some stationary barge—the tall and fantastic shapes of the houses, as discerned through the obscurity;—these, and other sights and sounds of the same character, give a sombre colour to the thoughts of one who may choose to indulge in meditation at such a time and in such a place. It is foolish, she murmured to herself, foolish.
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