“Mr. ‘Would you care for some refreshment? A glass of wine, perhaps?’ ‘Nothing, merci, I do not remain,’ she answered, although she did not rise. But one thing troubled him, and because of it he might never arrive on the beach. On the right, stood a bulky figure, with a broken rattle hanging out of his great-coat pocket, who held up a lantern to his battered countenance to prove to the spectators that both his orbs of vision were darkened: on the left, a meagre constable had divested himself of his shirt, to bind up with greater convenience a gaping cut in the arm. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. The truth at once flashed across his mind. This structure at once satisfied him as to where he stood. “You know,” he went on, “this doesn’t seem to me to end anything. Another horn now resounded from the further extremity of the thoroughfare; this was answered by a third; and presently a fourth, and more remote blast, took up the note of alarm. . Her roving eagerness was at all times shaded with shyness, reserve, repression. “I don’t know how, but I always manage to find a 164 fiddle if there is one around. Over here, there was generally some unusual twist to a case. What has been the matter?” “Toothache,” he answered laconically. ‘And you come to me, thinking yourself half French, and expect me to take you in.
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