She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. Ruth flashed in and out of the sunshine; and he took note of the radiant nimbus above her head each time the sunshine touched her hair. And now take away those cards, and never let me see them again. Yet I fancy that we who have been poor ourselves must be the best judges of the needs of the people. ’ ‘Oh, she’ll be safe enough, Gerald. The mummies were tossed into the collection. Oh, Mr Jarvis paid no mind,’ she added hastily, as if expecting disapproval. Slowly, he drew back his head and looked into her face. And yet, she would be easy prey in her present state of mind to any plausible, attractive scoundrel. To Ruth the thought of Hartford no longer projected upon her vision a city of spires and houses and tree-lined streets. And this is not France, you understand.
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