No one in the world is beyond the shaft of scandal— we all catch it terribly sometimes. Capes was rather a discovery. 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. All through that brief but measureless space of time during which wonder kept him silent, as fear did her, she cowered there, a limp helpless object. Ah Cum had no business taking him into the city last night. Mirages, over which he was constantly throwing bridges which were wasted efforts, since invariably they spanned solid ground. Either she had been seen, or they were seeking the air. "Why were you afraid to show me this picture, Winny?" asked the youth. And the age gets higher. And then I came here.
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