So long as Kirk did not interfere with her management of Bill,
he was at liberty, so far as she was concerned, to come or go as he
pleased.
Steve could not imitate her admirable detachment. He was a poor
philosopher, and all that his mind could grasp was that Kirk was in
trouble and that Ruth had apparently gone mad.
The affair did not come to his ears immediately. He visited the studio
at frequent intervals and found Kirk there, working hard and showing no
signs of having passed through a crisis which had wrecked his life. He
was quiet, it is true, but then he was apt to be quiet nowadays.
Probably, if it had not been for Keggs, he would have been kept in
ignorance of what had happened for a time.
Walking one evening up Broadway, he met Keggs taking the air and
observing the night-life of New York like himself.
Keggs greeted Steve with enthusiasm. He liked Steve, and it was just
possible that Steve might not have heard about the great upheaval. He
suggested a drink at a neighbouring saloon.
"We have not seen you at our house lately, Mr. Dingle," he remarked,
having pecked at his glass of beer like an old, wise bird.
He looked at Steve with a bright eye, somewhat puffy at the lids, but
full of life.
"No," said Steve. "That's right. Guess I must have been busy."
Keggs uttered a senile chuckle and drank more beer.
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