She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. She had heard of women journalists, women writers, and so forth; but she was not even admitted to the presence of the editors she demanded to see, and by no means sure that if she had been she could have done any work they might have given her. . Presently he became filled with astonishment over the singular fact that Ruth was eluding him in fancy as well as in reality. ‘And I’d like to know what the devil—’ ‘Out of town?’ repeated Melusine, stupefied. "Heed her not. .
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