" "No doubt, my dear," acquiesced the carpenter, "no doubt. Presently he became filled with astonishment over the singular fact that Ruth was eluding him in fancy as well as in reality. She would always be going to and fro up the Avenue, getting glimpses of Ramage, seeing him in trains. It reminded her of one of the old tales her mother Marina had told her about a sculptor named Farhat. Father-worshipping sons are abnormal— and they’re no good. At first she could not tell what it was; but as her eyes became accustomed to the light, she recognized the old coat. With trembling fingers she opened the post-bag. Enchanted. Towards night, however, he ventured out, and walked on towards London. I think that there is no better friend for a girl than a man rather older than herself. A fortnight passed, then a month.
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