That there would eventually be a lover Ruth knew; and she waited his appearance upon the scene, waited with an impatience which was both personal and literary. He was a bad dog; he knew it perfectly; but where there was laughter, there was hope. “I might return the compliment, Courtlaw,” he answered, “by asking why the devil you come lurching on to the pavement like a drunken man. “You haven’t seen him in three hundred years?” He asked. With a strong tendency to satire, but without a particle of malice or ill-nature in its display. She reflected upon that with a thrill of terror that was also, somehow, in some faint remote way, gleeful. It isn’t sentiment but it’s horse sense.
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