Ruth loved him. A few short, dark locks, escaping from beneath her head-dress, showed that her hair had been removed, and had only been recently allowed to grow again. ” “Bit starchy,” said Ann Veronica, and altered the key abruptly. This is your choice. I've a question to ask him. " "Well, rather than you should commit so great a crime, Captain, here it is," replied Quilt, handing him the garment in question. You would find things to laugh at even in Artemus Ward. His features were regular, and finely-formed; his complexion bright and blooming,—a little shaded, however, by travel and exposure to the sun; and, with a praiseworthy contempt for the universal and preposterous fashion then prevailing, of substituting a peruke for the natural covering of the head, he allowed his own dark-brown hair to fall over his shoulders in ringlets as luxuriant as those that distinguished the court gallant in Charles the Second's days—a fashion, which we do not despair of seeing revived in our own days. His pipe hung dead in his teeth, but the smoke was dense about him. "What is it?" "Can't you see? Together, down there; you and I!… As my wife! Both of us, never to be lonely again!… Will you marry me, Ruth?" As many a wiser woman had done, Ruth mistook thrilling eagerness for love. She would never, never go back.
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