Mind you don't stir till supper's over. He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine. “I am afraid your broken dinner engagement will not be so easy to explain. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction. That he was immolating Ruth on the altar of his conscience never broke in upon his thought for consideration.
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