Nothing like the direct approach, she thought. She woke up choking and belching water. It was denied him, for as he closed his eyes—though but for an instant—the whole scene of his former visit to the place rose before him. Ruth loved him. Melusine flew after him, the sword held out before her and pointing directly at his retreating back. Oh dear!—oh dear! Be careful of him," she added to her husband, "and get it over quickly, or never expect to see me again. Love stories!… A sob rushed into her throat, and to smother it she buried her face in a pillow. God help me. Ruth and Spurlock separated, the one embarrassed, the other utterly dumfounded.
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