He tired of his popcorn and placed it under his seat. 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. Of course he hadn't played the game wisely. "I've said it," rejoined Jonathan, peremptorily. “Cheveney wouldn’t have anything to say about it, as it happens,” he remarked, a little grimly. Another long interval elapsed. She required no instructions from books; her wit and beauty were her own. There he paused again, half turning his back and pretending to look for someone among the soldiers on the benches. “What else was I to do?” For some seconds she stood watching him and both were thinking very quickly. It was a purse. I might as well be at Morningside Park. I felt—I felt living in a masked world. “I have learned that.
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