Her favor was sought beyond all women’s favors. “Does he live here?” he asked her presently. ” He called for a hansom. ‘You wouldn’t know one end of a pistol from the other. . ’ ‘You see? Not to be trusted,’ Hilary uttered disgustedly. James Boyle O'Higgins knew little or nothing of the South Seas, but he knew human beings, all colours. Lucy cringed, her eyes widening. Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would always keep hidden from her, at least human love. One called her very distinctly “My dear!” Two secretarial posts did indeed seem to offer themselves in which, at least, there was no specific exclusion of womanhood; one was under a Radical Member of Parliament, and the other under a Harley Street doctor, and both men declined her proffered services with the utmost civility and admiration and terror. CHAPTER XIV Ruth lost the point entirely.
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