She was poor. Stanley allowed his paper to drop a little, and scrutinized the hats and brows of their three fellow-travellers. Even after this woman had gone, it seemed to Ruth that the room was kindlier than it had ever been. “You are a funny, a very funny young lady,” he said, “but we waste time here. “What is a ballot-box like, exactly?” she asked, as though it was very important to her. To-night all London believes that he was your husband. And you see, I don’t turn my back, and I am looking at you and thinking about you from top to toe. And he liked her. That is what I don't understand.
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