She prevaricated. “Before I met you I was deluded into receiving upon friendly terms a man named Hill, who passed himself off as Meysey Hill the railway man, but who was in reality an Englishman in poor circumstances. I did not know that you had even 244 started writing a symphony. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. He had only been prevented, indeed, by a fear of Mrs. “I don’t know where to go to. . ‘Of course the fellow has doubtless stayed put to wait for you,’ retorted Hilary. Wood having laid hold of the canvass-bag.
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