She put down the sketch-books and apparatus she had brought with her, pulled out her stool, and sat down. ’ A gleam of rare humour slid into Charvill’s chest. ‘You see, it is that my papa, he is without sympathy,’ said the lady sadly. . . ” “But don’t you see how I must stand to you? Don’t you see how it bars us from being lovers—You can’t—at first. I was born on an island in the South Seas. We can’t. He knew that at this moment Ruth lay upon her bed in torment, for she was by nature tender; and the reaction of her scathing words, no matter how justifiable, would be putting scars on her soul.
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