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. I have only just left Wych Street. “I am sure, Anna,” she said, “I do not see why we should conceal the truth from you. Will you answer me a question first?” “If I can,” Ennison said. Remember, in your story—look at it, scattered everywhere!—that line? We arrive at true happiness only through labyrinths of misery. That same adventurousness that had already buoyed her through crises that would have overwhelmed any normally feminine girl with shame and horror now became uppermost again. He flung Ruth aside, careless whether she fell or not. He wore a battered sunhelmet, a loin-cloth and a pair of dilapidated canvas shoes. ” So only a few minutes after Ennison’s departure, while Anna stood indeed with her sister’s open letter still in her hand, Courtlaw drove up in hot haste. ” “Why not?” she asked quietly.
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