Ruth felt his hand grow cold as it slipped from hers. You are afraid of kisses. Capes agreed with the utmost cordiality. It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. What!—add another drop to her cup? Who knows? Any day they may find me. 207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name. “I believe,” he said stiffly, “that these are the apartments of Miss Pellissier.
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