So Ruth took another step toward her destination, which we in our vanity call destiny. ‘You do not want to be a nun,’ he said now, and Melusine noted with a prick at her senses the irritation in his tone. A few feet away, across the low vases of pink and white roses, sat Annabel, more beautiful to-night perhaps than ever before in her life. “A thick-set, coarse-looking young man, Anna!” she exclaimed in a hoarse excited whisper. “I don’t see, Mollie,” he remarked, taking a cigar from the box on the table as his sister and daughter rose, “why you and Vee shouldn’t discuss this little affair —whatever it is—without bothering me. ’ She struck her hands together.
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