“Does a bear shit in the woods?” He said. “I heard the other day that she’d been taken in by some cad of a fellow who was cutting a great dash in Paris, personating Meysey Hill, the great railway man. Anna sat with the face of a Sphinx— waiting. No sooner had they entered the room than Sharples, who waited to usher them in, hastily retreated, closed the door, and turning the key, laughed loudly at the success of his stratagem. 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. Wood, you shan't lord it over me, I can promise you. ‘Allow me. Perhaps that was the reason that they both remained standing. "Shall I fetch it for you, Sir?" "By all means.
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