Ruth's eyes were wet, but she saw light everywhere: the room was filled with celestial aura. As matters now stand, I'm only a thief, not a blackguard. Sure, I lose one occasionally—if he stays in New York. Sometimes it seemed to him that he was an impostor: that Ruth believed him to be one Howard Spurlock, when he was only masquerading as Spurlock. There was an air of repressed gaiety in her actions: the sense of freedom had returned; her heart was empty again. Now, in her old place, she was doing her best thoroughly to enjoy a most indifferent dinner.
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