" "I do not doubt it," retorted Winifred, scornfully; "because I attach credit neither to one nor the other. "He will live," answered Ruth. ” Miss Stanley rose and regarded Ann Veronica fixedly. “I think we’ve exhausted this discussion,” she said. ” The lights sank, the prelude to the third act was beginning, the music rose and fell in crowded intimations of lovers separated—lovers separated with scars and memories between them, and the curtain went reefing up to display Tristan lying wounded on his couch and the shepherd crouching with his pipe. Just because she was sorry for that young fool! "Uh-huh," he repeated, rising and bowing as he passed Ruth's table.
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