I suppose I was a little idiotic—I don’t think we either of us mentioned the future, but it was arranged that I should go the next afternoon and have tea with her. It is very sweet of you to have waited for me. "He is gone!" cried Mrs. Ann Veronica blushed. It was a large, littered, self-forgetful apartment, decorated with unframed charcoal sketches by various incipient masters; and an open bookcase, surmounted by plaster casts and the half of a human skull, displayed an odd miscellany of books—Shaw and Swinburne, Tom Jones, Fabian Essays, Pope and Dumas, cheek by jowl. She approached Ruth with open arms; and something in the way the child came into that kindly embrace hurt the older woman to the point of tears. A mate? A brother-lover to tromp about the world with? “I cannot.
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