If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. But how could you get—Who gave you credit? “You see,” said Ann Veronica, “my landlady kept on my room while I was in Holloway, and the fees for the College mounted up pretty considerably. And not a worthy tome in sight. ‘Inside, miss!’ ‘But what is it?’ ‘Quick! We need the major. ‘Major, sir!’ The major appeared so swiftly that Melusine was instantly suspicious.
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