"I don't know; I really don't know. The manager twisted his moustache. Ruth, having decided a course for herself—that of renunciation—and having the strength to keep it, met these advances in precisely the mood they were offered. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. . "I will at once convince you of the truth of my assertions, and ascertain whether the enemy really is at hand. McClintock watched her interestedly until her golden head vanished below; then, with tolerant pity, he looked down at Spurlock, who had closed his eyes. If you don’t think it would be a social outrage, perhaps I might walk with you to your railway station.
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