With thinly veiled glee, Michelle described a rumor she had heard about John at a recent party. Traversing Angel Court, and Green Arbour Court,—celebrated as one of Goldsmith's retreats,—he speedily reached Seacoal Lane, and pursuing the same course, which he and Thames had formerly taken, arrived at the yard at the back of Jonathan's habitation. 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. She spoke with a certain odd deliberation carefully chosen words which fell like drops of ice upon the man who sat listening.
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