At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own. "What motive have you for concealment?" he demanded. You told him there wasn't anything in the pockets?" "Yes. Sir John saw it, and was flattered. " "I don't wonder at it," rejoined Gay. A man's laced hat,—whether adopted from the caprice of the moment, or habitually worn, we are unable to state,—cocked knowingly on her head, harmonized with her masculine appearance. He had put himself before the threshold of damnation; for Ruth was now a vestal in the temple. You don’t know the thoughts we have; the things we can do and say. We'll have him yet.
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