That he was immolating Ruth on the altar of his conscience never broke in upon his thought for consideration. Below was an uninspiring street, a thoroughfare of boarding-houses and apartments. After a series of mental gymnastics—occupying the space of a few seconds—it came to him with a shock that here was a new specimen of the species. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. "Yes; I know I look it," said O'Higgins, amiably. She was fatigued physically and mentally, and neither mind nor body could rest.
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