The air might be cool, but half an hour without head-gear was an invitation to sunstroke. Perhaps the old fool was not as fanciful as they had thought. "Your mother is dead," interposed Wild, scowling. There was no answer, just grunting, so she repeated the question in Latin, then in Greek, to which Rhea responded. To take Spring and Love out of her life, as if there were no human instincts to tell Ruth what was being denied her! And what must have been the man's thought as he came upon Ruth wearing a gown of her mother's? —a fair picture of the mother in the primrose days? Not a flicker of an eyelash; steel and granite outwardly.
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