" "You'd better," replied Quilt. "And had you been the worst scoundrel unhung, I'd have seen to it that you had the same care, the same chance. She was too delicate, too fragile to survive out there. And do you, Jack, attend to your work, and mind you don't get into further mischief. The picturesque scoundrel had the true gift; and Spurlock was filled with pity at the thought of such genius gone to pot. There was first the Avenue, which ran in a consciously elegant curve from the railway station into an undeveloped wilderness of agriculture, with big, yellow brick villas on either side, and then there was the pavement, the little clump of shops about the postoffice, and under the railway arch was a congestion of workmen’s dwellings. Ruth loved him.
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