save him. His case is not hopeless. Ruth, let Mr. Winfield show you his
pictures. They are poor in many respects, but not entirely without
merit.'
Ruth, meanwhile, had been sitting on the couch, listening to the
conversation without really hearing it. She was in a dreamy, contented
mood. She found herself curiously soothed by the atmosphere of the
studio, with its shaded lights and its atmosphere of peace. That was
the keynote of the place, peace.
From outside came the rumble of an elevated train, subdued and
softened, like faintly heard thunder. Somebody passed the window,
whistling. A barrier seemed to separate her from these noises of the
city. New York was very far away.
'I believe I could be wonderfully happy in a place like this,' she
thought.
She became suddenly aware, in the midst of her meditations, of eyes
watching her intently. She looked up and met Kirk's.
She could read the message in them as clearly as if he had spoken it,
and she was conscious of a little thrill of annoyance at the thought of
all the tiresome formalities which must be gone through before he could
speak it. They seemed absurd.
It was all so simple. He wanted her; she wanted him. She had known it
from the moment of their meeting. The man had found his woman, the
woman her man. Nature had settled the whole affair in an instant. And
now civilization, propriety, etiquette, whatever one cared to call it,
must needs step in with the rules and regulations and precedents.
The goal was there, clear in sight, but it must be reached by the
winding road appointed. She, being a woman and, by virtue of her sex,
primeval, scorned the road, and would have ignored it. But she knew
men, and especially, at that moment as their eyes met, she knew Kirk;
and she understood that to him the road was a thing that could not be
ignored. The mere idea of doing so would seem grotesque and impossible,
probably even shocking, to him. Men were odd, formal creatures, slaves
to precedent.
He must have time, it was the prerogative of the male; time to reveal
himself to her, to strut before her, to go through the solemn comedy of
proving to her, by the exhibition of his virtues and the careful
suppression of his defects, what had been clear to her from the first
instant, that here was her mate, the man nature had set apart for her.
He would begin by putting on a new suit of clothes and having his hair
cut.
She smiled. It was silly and tiresome, but it was funny.
'Will you show me your pictures, Mr. Winfield?' she asked.
'If you'd really care to see them. I'm afraid they're pretty bad.'
'Exhibit A. Modesty,' thought Ruth.
The journey had begun.
It is not easy in this world to take any definite step without annoying
somebody, and Kirk, in embarking on his wooing of Ruth Bannister,
