The bookstall clerk had several crystal
paper-weights with views of the pier, the Hotel Majestic, the Esplanade,
the Happy Valley, but none with a view of the Great Orme. He had also
paper-knives and watch-cases with a view of the Great Orme. But Ruth
wanted a combination of paper-weight and Great Orme, and nothing else
would satisfy her. She was like that. The clerk admitted that such a
combination existed, but he was sold "out of it."
"Couldn't you get one and send it to me?" said Ruth.
And Denry saw anew that she was incurable.
"Oh yes, miss," said the clerk. "Certainly, miss. To-morrow at latest."
And he pulled out a book. "What name?"
Ruth looked at Denry, as women do look on such occasions.
"Rothschild," said Denry.
It may seem perhaps strange that that single word ended their
engagement. But it did. She could not tolerate a rebuke. She walked
away, flushing. The bookstall clerk received no order. Several persons
in the vicinity dimly perceived that a domestic scene had occurred, in a
flash, under their noses, on a platform of a railway station. Nellie was
speedily aware that something very serious had happened, for the train
took them off without Ruth speaking a syllable to Denry, though Denry
raised his hat and was almost effusive.
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