When she got back to her questions again in the monotonous high-road that led up the hill, she found the image of Mr. I rather want them. He stood up and she ushered him out of the small room. Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. All his interest in Ruth, all his care and solicitude, could now be translated into a single word—love. “I really owe him something of an apology. “Well, you’ve seen the kitchen and the dining room, but did I show you the basement?” He asked.
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