Behind the illustrious personages just described marched a troop of stalwart fellows, with white badges in their hats, quarterstaves, oaken cudgels, and links in their hands. “I don’t think you can have heard me, Vee,” he said, with intensely controlled fury. And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account. He could talk to her as frankly as he could to a man, that she would not take offence at anything so long as it was in the form of explanation.
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