" "A miniature! Of whom?" "That I can't say," replied Jack, mysteriously. I cannot live without you, Anna. How little he knew about Ruth—the background from which she had sprung! He knew that her father was a missioner, that her mother was dead, that she had been born on this island, and that, at the time of his collapse, she had been on the way to an aunt in the States. 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. “Very well,” said her father. “You really couldn’t ride in it,” he said, deprecatingly. He’d borne mention of the woman’s name.
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