Mr. I don't know whose brainless head it may be, but it'll do for my collection. Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. Then began expostulations, preluded by a telegram and headed by her aunt. "Give them what you please. 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. ‘I am perfectly devoted to him, as well he knows. Walpole for your apprehension. To take Spring and Love out of her life, as if there were no human instincts to tell Ruth what was being denied her! And what must have been the man's thought as he came upon Ruth wearing a gown of her mother's? —a fair picture of the mother in the primrose days? Not a flicker of an eyelash; steel and granite outwardly. Oh! you haven't got the key—then I must have it, I suppose. Her father held some printed document in his hand, and appeared not to observe her entry.
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