After all, why should I care what strangers think?" Ruth asked with sudden heat. Ruth flashed in and out of the sunshine; and he took note of the radiant nimbus above her head each time the sunshine touched her hair. “I think, aunt,” she said, “you might trust to my self-respect to keep me out of that. I see that I am a beast—I beg your pardon, bête—and an imbecile, and an idiot. Ain't he, Madam?'" "He is, indeed," replied the widow, fervently; "more—much more than that. Every home is a little recess, a niche, out of the world of business and competition, in which women and the future shelter. Panic leapt into his eyes as he brought his wrist up just in time to parry the blade.
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