It was a refusal of expediency, he said, and not an absolute refusal. After he was gone in the morning, Ruth would steal into the study and hurriedly read what he had written the previous night. “One can’t tell. You mustn’t go clawing after a man that doesn’t belong to you—that isn’t even interested in you. ‘Well, what was I to think, miss? Martha never wrote nothing about you, and I did ask. I can esteem him, regard him; but, love him as he ought to be loved—that I cannot do. Certain simple purposes emerged from the disingenuous muddle of her feelings and desires. Cautiously stepping outside, he looked up towards the terrace. His hug became an embrace.
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