“Martin, you realize that I’m dating someone, don’t you?” She knew his reply before he uttered it. She loved the market, the horses trotting about, the bishops forced to be on the same road with old washer-women, the fools begging for a Florin or a ducat. Not a bad man as men go, but he would sell whisky and gin. The comments on the makeover lessened but were replaced by long admiring glances by boys who had never before given her the time of day. The night before they made McClintock's Ruth and Spurlock leaned over the rail, their shoulders touching. “You are positively eloquent to-night—both of you,” she declared. In the distance a barrel-organ was grinding out a pot pourri of popular airs. Leonardo he was my—’ ‘Don’t say it,’ Gerald cut in hoarsely. Even there a woman never gets a fair chance. They want some fun, and there isn't any. She had once reconciled in her mind that she was happy as long as she had him.
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