"Your uncle, Sir Rowland?" "It is no idle boasting," replied the other. When they reached her rooms she stepped lightly out upon the pavement. Wasn’t it—a little bit of a scene?” “Oh! let me see. They are mine! They were sent to ‘Alcide’ not to you. Ruth's gaze wandered from the printed page. The servants had left the room. There was a very white-faced youngster of eighteen who brushed back his hair exactly in Russell’s manner, and was disposed to be uncomfortably silent when he was near her, and to whom she felt it was only Christian kindness to be consistently pleasant; and a lax young man of five-and-twenty in navy blue, who mingled Marx and Bebel with the more orthodox gods of the biological pantheon. Its shouting now did in some occult manner convey a protest that Mr. ‘Here, miss,’ came faintly from somewhere close at hand. .
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