" "I hear nothing, Sir," laughed Austin. Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would always keep hidden from her, at least human love. Ashen blonde, a shade that would never excite the cynical commentary which men applied to certain types of blondes. With such qualifications as she possessed, two chief channels of employment lay open, and neither attracted her, neither seemed really to offer a conclusive escape from that subjection to mankind against which, in the person of her father, she was rebelling. The one nearest to her, which must lead to the library. And then! a garment that was conceivably a secondary skirt. During the narration Jack's features lighted up, and an expression, which would have been in vain looked for in repose, was instantly caught and depicted by the skilful artist. It was a look that accorded very well with the hayloft setting that had come to mind. Even now she could trace the outline of his shape behind the left-hand curtain. The latter seemed inclined to advance and address the former; but suddenly changing his mind, he shouted to his companion in tones familiar to the stranger's ear; and, striking spurs into his steed, dashed off at full speed along the Edgeware Road. C below.
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