They talked lightly but confidentially until Sir John approached them with a slight frown upon his face. He had forgiven everybody. “Really, Sir John,” she said, “I don’t know how to thank you. Senior year started with a whimper. In the mornings I find labour easy because I am going to see you. His glance swept up again and found her staring at him with much of her usual defiance, if a touch less of her customary assurance. 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. “Okay.
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