” “I may come a little way, then?” he begged. I did not care—no woman really cares—to play the beggar maid to your King Cophetua. She had a feeling at his departure as of an immense cavity, of something enormously gone; she could not tell whether it was infinite regret or infinite relief. ’ ‘And do not say you made a mull. She was making it up. He was now within a foot of the bar, and introducing himself into the hole, speedily worked his way to it. She wanted to scream, but there was no one to scream for. ‘How dull it must have been for you, poor little one. He drew her to him and tipped her chin towards him. ” With a murmured word of excuse she glided away, and Courtlaw, who had come with a mission which seemed to him to be one of life or death, was left to listen to the latest art jargon from Chelsea. " Ruth had read from page to page in "The Child's Garden of Verse," generally unfamiliar to the admirers of Stevenson.
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