” “Except,” said Constance, surveying her work with her head on one side, “to keep the matches from the litter. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. " "And you my warning," retorted Wild. Presently he became filled with astonishment over the singular fact that Ruth was eluding him in fancy as well as in reality. Stories … love stories: and to-morrow she would know the joy of reading them! It was almost unbelievable; it was too good to be true.
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