Mrs. She laughed softly, and leaned across the table. There he sat, cheerfully friendly in his sex’s freedom—the man she loved, the one man she cared should unlock the way to the wide world for her imprisoned feminine possibilities, and he seemed regardless that she stifled under his eyes; he made a jest of all this passionate insurgence of the souls of women against the fate of their conditions. “But of course it’s aunt’s doing really. "You won't refuse it, Mr. But—it’s one of the things I’ve just been thinking over. You cannot—shall not retreat. Then she stepped back into the empty room and stood for a moment looking down upon the scattered fragments of her last canvas. " And he strode out of the place. . “MY DEAR GIRL,— “I am so sorry if we made asses of ourselves to-night. Ruth out of the picture, he wouldn't have concerned himself so eagerly in regard to Spurlock's departure. And at the sight something leaped within her. For a while they stood there, silent, motionless, staring at the doorway where still a few strings of the bamboo curtain swayed and twisted, agitated by the Wastrel's passage. Ruth came to him directly.
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