At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own. Having no more patience, I drew you aside to give you a compliment on your radiant beauty. He saw rifts in clouds—sunshine. Mother? Suzanne Valade, her mother? With deliberation, he spoke. We have played at a little mild lovemaking again. She turned the gas up in her little sitting-room, and sank wearily into an easy chair. . Gerald switched to French. " "A novelist?" cried Ruth, thrilling. Then we can loiter and gossip to our heart’s content.
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