. " "How does Jack bear it?" inquired Mrs. For a while they stood there, silent, motionless, staring at the doorway where still a few strings of the bamboo curtain swayed and twisted, agitated by the Wastrel's passage. The face of the man who lay there was clearly visible. A nod was exchanged. I am going to help take care of him," said Ruth, quite ordinarily, as though taking care of unknown derelicts was an ordinary event in her life. Unless he can arise from the bottom of the Thames, where he and his abhorred father lie buried, you will never behold him again in this world. 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.
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