He uttered a short laugh. He inspected the formidable array of rifles and at length walked over to the register. ’ I wanted, as I have never wanted before, to take you up, to make you mine, to carry you off and set you apart from all the strain and turmoil of life. I—I don’t understand,” the man faltered wearily. ‘Dolt! Muttonheaded oaf! Why the deuce couldn’t he have sent you home?’ Valade cut in at that. Ruth crossed over to the dramatist of this tragicomedy and put a hand on his shoulder. Good-bye aunt.
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