"I thought it best that you should imagine him. Do you know what Spurlock has done?" "Mr. She passed down the stairs and into the street. She went to a writing-desk and made some memoranda on a sheet of note-paper, and then remembered that she had no address as yet to which letters could be sent. It was high afternoon, there was no great throng of footpassengers, and many an eye from omnibus and pavement rested gratefully on her fresh, trim presence as she passed young and erect, with the light of determination shining through the quiet self-possession of her face. Pray, walk in. Spurling, who had been hastily compounding another bowl of punch. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. She followed Oxford Street into Holborn, and then she inquired for Chancery Lane.
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