Ruth's mind was fertile soil; for a long time to come it would be something of a hothouse: green things would spring up and blossom overnight. By now the horses would be rested and he might go as swiftly back again. They had much to talk about, or rather Miss Prudence had. She got into rows through meddling with their shoes and tennis-rackets, and had moments of carefully concealed admiration when she was privileged to see them just before her bedtime, rather radiantly dressed in white or pink or amber and prepared to go out with her mother. “You are not going out—this evening, I trust,” that lady asked, a trifle dismayed. " "A lie!" exclaimed Jack in a terrible tone.
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