|Title||The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists|
Perceiving that she did not speak or smile, Easton concluded that she was angry and became grave himself.
`I've come at last, you see, my dear; better late than never.'
He found it very difficult to speak plainly, for his lips trembled and refused to form the words.
`I don't know so much about that,' said Ruth, inclined to cry and trying not to let him see the pity she could not help feeling for him. `A nice state you're in. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.'
Easton shook his head and laughed foolishly. `Don't be angry, Ruth. It's no good, you know.'
He walked clumsily towards her, still leaning on the table to steady himself.
`Don't be angry,' he mumbled as he stooped