A young woman with a white badge on her arm stood and counted the sections as they entered their vans. Their eyes met, and his expressed perplexity and curiosity. "You mistake,—you are mine. Not even for Ruth could he do such a beastly thing. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. With this she now entered. “Will you come this way,” she said, “into the drawing-room? There is no one there just now. Silly woman!. But, go and see who it is, love. Look at it, I say.
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