Satisfied in this respect, he flung himself into a chair, for his iron frame seldom required the indulgence of a bed, and sought an hour's repose before he began the villanies of another day. He beamed as she whispered to 22 him that she had seen a table so fine or tasted such wonders. Never mind. Darrell attempted to reply. “What’s the objection?” “I suppose she ought to know?” said Gwen to her mother, trying to alter the key of the conversation. Her formerly brown hair was dyed a white shade of blonde. There was a look in her eyes which puzzled him. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. “But I am sorry,” she exclaimed. " There was another pause. An unhappy little sigh escaped her. She looked at him gravely and squinted. I'll take them back with me.
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