"
Jack rose from his seat and walked toward the fire, where he stood
with one hand on the mantel. He knew Peter had a purpose in all
his raillery and yet he dared not voice the words that trembled on
his lips; he could tell the old fellow everything in his life
except his love for Ruth and her refusal to listen to him. This
was the bitterest of all his failures, and this he would not and
could not pour into Peter's ears. Neither did he want Ruth to have
Peter's help, nor Miss Felicia's; nor MacFarlane's; not anybody's
help where her heart was concerned. If Ruth loved him that was
enough, but he wouldn't have anybody persuade her to love him, or
advise with her about loving him. How much Peter knew he could not
say. Perhaps!--perhaps Ruth told him something!--something he was
keeping to himself!
As this last thought forced itself into his brain a great surge of
joy swept over him. For a brief moment he stood irresolute. One of
Peter's phrases now rang clear: "Stoop a little!" Stoop?--hadn't
he done everything a man could do to win a woman, and had he not
found the bars always facing him?
With this his heart sank again.
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