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. She longed to own something lasting, anything, but knew her wishes to be stupid. It was as if she had grown right past her father into something older and of infinitely wider outlook, as if he had always been unsuspectedly a flattened figure, and now she had discovered him from the other side. He kept that, but the rest. "We'll see that, you yelping hounds!" rejoined Jonathan, glaring fiercely at them. "I should like to know where Mr. “I shall have to go through the building.
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