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. She was dressed as English girls do dress for town, without either coquetry or harshness: her collarless blouse confessed a pretty neck, her eyes were bright and steady, and her dark hair waved loosely and graciously over her ears. A small brickbat was thrown, which struck Jonathan in the face. An ugly flush stained his cheeks. ‘But the major—’ ‘The major can say nothing at all. ‘But—’ ‘Nothing at all for you to worry your head over,’ said the captain, moving to try and usher her forth. At least, I frustrated her design in calling upon him this morning. He made his speech a little elaborately. Even if you didn’t know it.
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