He remembered overhearing
some talk one day in which his uncle had taken part. Only a few
days before he had sent a bundle of Mukton certificates to the
transfer office of the company.
Then a chill struck him full in the chest and he shivered to his
finger-tips. Had Ruth heard?--and if she had heard, would she
understand? In his talk he had given her his true self--his
standards of honor--his beliefs in what was true and worth having.
When she knew all--and she must know--would she look upon him as a
fraud? That his uncle had been accused of a shrewd scoop in the
Street did not make his clerk a thief, but would she see the
difference?
All these thoughts surged through his mind as he stood looking
into her eyes, her hand in his while he made his adieux. He had
determined, before Morris fired the bomb which shattered his
hopes, to ask if he might see her again, and where, and if there
could be found no place fitting and proper, she being motherless
and Miss Felicia but a chaperon, to write her a note inviting her
to walk up through the Park with him, and so on into the open
where she really belonged.
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