She will not confide in me. "He has quite the air of one. Cheveney was another Paris friend, was he?” she asked. Madame Valade was looking heartily bored, he noted, as his searching eyes found out the couple. Of course. Ah! there he stands!" he exclaimed as his eye fell for the first time upon Sir Rowland. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain.
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