“TROUSERS!” she whispered. She stole the opportunity to peer at his departing figure from the closed curtains of the front room window, his shoulders slumped forward, his posture and his ego slightly deflated. Springing upon the box, he told the coachman to make the best of his way to Saint Giles's. He became primitive, literal in his conception; the ramifications were, for the nonce, fairly relegated to limbo. Ruth was not a woman; she was a phenomenon. Of course, at home there would have been questions. Anna hailed a bus. The great door of the Stone Hall was thrown open, and the sheriffs, preceded by the javelin-men, entered the room. “Manning,” she said, and contemplated a figure of inaggressive persistence. Not since she had discovered it had Ruth touched or opened the mission Bible; but to-night (the same upon which the wonderful manuscripts started on their long and circuitous voyage to America) she was inexplicably drawn to it. The hotel manager was expostulating and Ah Cum was replying by a series of expressive shrugs.
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