I have told you. The amazing tonic of the thought! From time to time she laid her hand upon Spurlock's forehead: it was still cold. I tell you what, Thames," he added, flinging himself carelessly into a chair, "I'd give my right hand,—and that's no light offer for a carpenter's 'prentice,—if that little minx were half as fond of me as she is of you. No, no! Not now!" Ruth turned abruptly and walked toward the bungalow, mounted the veranda steps, and vanished within. To-morrow, we'll go to the Fleet and get spliced.
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