" So Ruth heard about the poets; she became tolerably familiar with the exploits of that engaging ruffian Cellini; she heard of the pathetic deafness of Beethoven; she was thrilled, saddened, exhilarated; and on the evening of the twelfth day she made bold to enter the talk. Also, you must send someone to fetch my horse—at least, it is not mine but I have borrowed it to come here—because it will be dark very soon and—’ ‘Woof! Hold it, hold it,’ begged the sergeant. Yet she held her tongue. It was ended. She smiled mechanically at the audience, holding her violin limply, feeling the hot lights on her made-up face. Anna was afterwards astonished at her own selfpossession. The dog approached timidly, his tail going furiously. Mr. Marvel. "Where is he?" he cried.
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