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"I'll have my cot in here," said Spurlock to Ruth, "where this table is. She turned her head away sharply. I don’t play anything. And Capes was thinking that his wife was a supremely beautiful woman. I had left Paris. All along the wooden benches before it sat a profusion of soldiery, a collection of barbers in attendance, busily employed in replaiting and powdering their hair ready for a military review scheduled for this afternoon. He was even a little jealous of Sebastian. The image of Major Alderley came into her mind. Ruth sighed; Spurlock stood up and drew his hand across his forehead as if awakening from a dream. They WERE, she realized, acutely beautiful things. No blowzy barmaids for him to-day: an American bar-keep to whom he could tell his troubles and receive the proper meed of sympathy. I've foiled him hitherto, and will foil him yet.
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