Then she called a hansom and drove home. Poor girl! she was beautiful once; so beautiful as to make me, who care little for the allurements of women, fancy myself enamoured of her. What do you know about her, Fred? I am interested. To-night we leave for Marseilles. " "There isn't an angel in heaven, Ruth, purer or sweeter than you are. I could never make you understand. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers.
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