The entire city seemed to exist for beauty and art alone. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. They’ll know. I cannot be intimate—’ stressing the word with a deep look ‘— with one I feel to be a stranger. A strange betrothal!—the primal idea of which was escape! The girl, intent upon abrogating for ever all legal rights of the father in the daughter, of rendering innocuous the thing she had now named the Terror: the boy, seeking selfcrucifixion in expiation of his transgression, changing a peccadillo into damnation! It was easy for Ruth to surrender to the idea, for she believed she was loved; and in gratitude it was already her determination to give this boy her heart's blood, drop by drop, if he wanted it. Lucy had passed the house once on the sidewalk, on a rare day when he was shoveling snow. And nothing to tell her where to begin.
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