It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. He was wearing a new silk hat, with a slightly more generous brim than its predecessor, and it suited his type of face, robbed his dark eyes a little of their aggressiveness and gave him a solid and dignified and benevolent air. ‘Laisse-moi!’ Impatience swamped him. “Dinner is served, m’m,” said the efficient parlor-maid in the archway, and the worst was over. . At Boulogne they took train to Basle; next morning they breakfasted together in the buffet of that station, and thence they caught the Interlaken express, and so went by way of Spies to Frutigen. In vain he fondly urged his suit, And, all in vain, the question put; She answered,—"Mr. 1 through 1.
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