She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. Nuns, I mean. With thinly veiled glee, Michelle described a rumor she had heard about John at a recent party. Their future would be glorious; he saw it in their eyes; he saw it in the beauty of their young heads. The slow stars circled on to the moment of their meeting. Leaning upon a gate he looked down into the valley. Of course a little daughter is a delightful thing enough. We had better have it over. Now, I know you can restore him to his rights, if you choose. And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account.
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