"Wait till Monday night, Ruth. Then I will do anything you ask me. Now go back to your mother, but understand, not a word of this to her yet. I shall not recur to this again; meanwhile we shall both have something to think of."
That afternoon Dr. Kemp received the following brief note: --
Have you forgotten that my daughter is a Jewess; that you are a Christian? Till Monday night I shall expect you to consider this question from every possible point of view. If then both you and my daughter can satisfactorily override the many objections I undoubtedly have, I shall raise no obstacle to your desires. Sincerely your friend, JULES LEVICE.
In the mean time Ruth was thinking it all out. Love was blinding her, dazzling her; and the giants that rose before her were dwarfed into pygmies, at which she tried to look gravely, but succeeded only in smiling at their feebleness. Love was an Armada, and bore down upon the little armament that thought called up, and rode it all to atoms.
Small wonder, then, that on their return on Monday morning, as little Rose Delano stood in Ruth's room looking up into her friend's face, the dreamy, starry eyes, the smiles that crept in thoughtful dimples about the corners of her mouth, the whole air of a mysterious something, baffled and bewildered her.
Upon Ruth's writing-table rested a basket of delicate Marechal Niel buds, almost veiled in tender maiden-hair; the anonymous sender was not unknown.
"It has agreed well with you, Miss Levice," said Rose, in her gentle, patient voice, that seemed so out of keeping with her young face. "You look as if you had been dipped in a love-elixir."
"So I have," laughed Ruth, her hand straying to the velvety buds; "it has made a 'nut-brown mayde' of me, I think, Rosebud. But tell me the city news. Everything in running order? Tell me."
(Editor：{typename type="name"/})
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