It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. Sheppard. All about her, hither and yon, lay the enticing Unknown. She knew now the supreme human energy which sent men to hell or carried them to their earthly heights. “Don’t let them know I’m here. You will observe that a coronet is embroidered on it. I haven't touched the other. “Dear friend,” she said, “do not magnify me into a physiological problem. Faugh!” She took up the last morsel of roll, and held it delicately between her long slim fingers. But you must tell her. But when she turned her thoughts to Morningside Park she perceived the tangled skein of life was now to be further complicated by his romantic importunity. But I know very well that that word will never be spoken.
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