It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. He agreed it was disgraceful. On the other hand, there was a subconscious impression that she would be able to read instantly anything unclean in a man's eye. Ruth hugged the envelope and McClintock, with the end of a burnt match, drew a cabalistic sign. It was a clear, lovely, October morning. The violence of the collision nearly threw him backwards, and caused him to swerve as he sprang. "I understand," replied the stranger, unable to repress a smile. He had, he felt, to create certain ideas and vivify certain curiosities and feelings in her. Spurlock lay with his head on his arms, asleep. "My little fancy man's quite as fond of me as of you, Bess. ” “Upon my word,” he declared, “you are right.
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