" CHAPTER IX. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. " "He couldn't help it, Ruth. See, it is on my cards—M. “MY DEAR GIRL,— “I am so sorry if we made asses of ourselves to-night. I want very much to do something for women. But I'd a mind to try whether you really loved him as much as you pretended. She got into rows through meddling with their shoes and tennis-rackets, and had moments of carefully concealed admiration when she was privileged to see them just before her bedtime, rather radiantly dressed in white or pink or amber and prepared to go out with her mother.
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