Then she examined with curiosity some knick-knacks upon a small round table by her side. He was now as civil as he had just been insolent. It was a serene and charming evening, and twilight was gently stealing over the face of the country. A little smothered cry broke from her lips—the curtains were thrown aside and a man stepped out. They are not your flowers. Ruth stared into the painted face, now sundrily cracked by the coursing tears. “Just come to that seat now you are here, Miss Stanley, and look down the other path; there’s a vista of just the common sort.
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