His glances were hard to disguise as he scanned her periodically during class. Then I assumed a rather portentous manner to prepare him. "All my life I've dreamed of something like this," he said, divertingly, with a gesture which included the yacht. The other lay unconscious in a heap. She could accord her father with one grace: he was not in any manner a hypocrite. A solemn consideration, when I enter a great city at night, that every one of those darkly clustered houses encloses its own secret; that every room in every one of them encloses its own secret; that every beating heart in the hundreds of thousands of breasts there, is, in some of its imaginings, a secret to the heart nearest it!' … It kind of terrifies me," said Ruth, looking up, first at the face of her husband, then at McClintock's. But we've got to cook up some kind of a story to protect her. .
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