“You blithering idiot!” he exclaimed. “She must,” said Mr. And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account. ‘May I, indeed? I’ll take you up on that. "Won't you take these?" For a space he merely stared at her, perhaps wondering if she were real. How plainly he could see the patch of garden in the summer sunshine and the white hollyhocks nodding above the picket fence! ***** Ruth sat waiting for the half hour, subconsciously. ‘What am I looking for?’ ‘A miniature.
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