After he had eaten dinner with Ruth, he had gone to McClintock's; and he had heard music such as he had heard only in the great concert halls. Surely our advice would have been worth having, at any rate. Then he paused. The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. He must have been following her from room to room, silent in his stockinged feet. “Dinner is served, m’m,” said the efficient parlor-maid in the archway, and the worst was over. To-morrow I am going to Paris. I am sure he would go with you.
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