Hastening to the spot where he had tied his horse to a tree, he vaulted into the saddle, and rode off across the fields,—for he was fearful of encountering the hostile party,—till he reached the Edgeware Road. He was snoring stupidly. Sordid; but that was not Ruth's term for it; she had no precise commentary to offer. Something in his tone pinched her heart. Gerald’s voice came back to her, saying that she could not hope to outwit “a man who means business”. “This,” he said, and then: “No! Is this sweeter? Very well.
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