“It may be more difficult than you think,” she said. Ruth flashed in and out of the sunshine; and he took note of the radiant nimbus above her head each time the sunshine touched her hair. But her great-aunt was nodding, as if this was what she had expected. Wood, in indignant surprise. It was not due to shyness: it was the inherent instinct of the Woman, a protective fear that she must retain some elements of mystery in order to hold the interest of the male. She turned a resolute face southward. It came to her that to marry any one but Capes was impossible. Wood. A creature of convenience, she could have cared less if her children were carried away by drunkards on the street. He became primitive, literal in his conception; the ramifications were, for the nonce, fairly relegated to limbo.
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