In that moment he saw clearly for the first time that the marriage
between himself and Ruth had not been arranged in Heaven. He admitted
privately then that the saving of a young woman from violent death in a
pantechnicon need not inevitably involve espousing her. She was without
doubt a marvellous creature, but it was as wise to dream of keeping a
carriage and pair as to dream of keeping Ruth. He grew suddenly cynical.
His age leaped to fifty or so, and the curve of his lips changed.
Ruth, spying around, saw him and ran to him with a glad cry.
"Here!" she said, "take these. They're no good." She held out her hands.
"What are they?" he asked.
"They're the halfpennies."
"So sorry!" he said, with an accent whose significance escaped her, and
took the useless coins.
"We've exhausted all the chocolate," said she. "But there's butterscotch
left--it's nearly as good--and gold-tipped cigarettes. I daresay some of
them would enjoy a smoke. Have you got any more pennies?"
"No!" he replied. "But I've got ten or a dozen half-crowns. They'll work
the machine just as well, won't they?"
This time she did notice a certain unusualness in the flavour of his
accent.
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