“Ritter’s!” said Ramage to the driver, “Dean Street. Supper was over. Suddenly he felt Ruth swing violently away from him, and he wheeled to learn the cause. The other kicked over the traces a bit, made rather a hit with her singing at some of those French places, and went the pace in a mild, ladylike sort of way. She had something of the feeling a Hindoo must experience who has been into surroundings or touched something that offends his caste. Still he had a decent look, and decidedly the air of one well-to-do in the world. But I shall lose my wager if I stay a moment longer—so here goes.
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