We have known men who have come here for no other purpose than to prove their unassailable virtue, who have strode into the arena of temptation, waving the—the what is it—the white flower of a blameless life, only to exchange it with marvellous facility for the violets of the Parisienne. "It is an ordinary wedding," he added; "some shopkeeper's daughter. No, no! Not now!" Ruth turned abruptly and walked toward the bungalow, mounted the veranda steps, and vanished within. Was there anything at all in those locked rooms of her aunt’s mind? Were they fully furnished and only a little dusty and cobwebby and in need of an airing, or were they stark vacancy except, perhaps, for a cockroach or so or the gnawing of a rat? What was the mental equivalent of a rat’s gnawing? The image was going astray. There was a stain of wine upon her dress. The tears were welling over now, but her voice was steady.
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