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. Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. It said: Got news for you about J. So far as I am concerned, I am just now a hopeless nonentity. “You are a dear,” she exclaimed affectionately. Almost at the same moment the door opened and Brendon entered, followed by the doctor. Wood could stand it no longer. Goopes down on him with the lesson Titian teaches so beautifully in his “Sacred and Profane Love,” and became quite eloquent upon the impossibility of any deception in the former.
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