She read for half an hour, then closed the book because Spurlock appeared to have fallen asleep. Always her prayers ended—'And may my beautiful mother guide me!' No. ‘I don’t want him having an apoplexy in this house. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. Ruth and Spurlock separated, the one embarrassed, the other utterly dumfounded. Why had he glanced up—quite in that way?. She bought her Greyhound ticket one steamy afternoon when school let out at eleven thirty A.
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