at was she holding back for? For some possible ideal romantic future;
for the prince of a fairy story? No? Well, then, for what?

The moon went behind a cloud, and took all her photographs with her. The
night had turned very cold.

"To-morrow," said Ruth to herself, rising slowly; "I am too tired to
think now. To-morrow!"

And as she spoke the faint chime of the clock upon her table warned her
that already it was to-morrow.

And soon, in a moment, as it seemed to her, before she had had time to
think, it was again to-morrow, a wet, dim to-morrow, and she was at
Vandon, running up the wide stone steps in the starlight, under Dare's
protecting umbrella, and allowing him to take her wraps from her before
the hall fire.

The concert had gone off well. Ruth was pleased, Mr. Alwynn was pleased.
Dare was in a state of repressed excitement, now flying into the
drawing-room to see if there were a good fire, as it was a chilly
evening; now rushing thence to the dining-room to satisfy himself that
all the immense and elaborate preparations which he had enjoined on the
cook had been made. Then, Ruth must be shown to her room. Who was to do
it? He flew to find the house-keeper, and after repeated injunctions to
the house-maid, whom he met in the passage, not to forget the hot water,
took Mr. Alwynn off to his apartment.

The concert had begun, as concerts always seem to do, at the exact time
at which it is usual to dine, so that it was late before the principal
performers and Mr. Alwynn reached Vandon. It was later still before
supper came, but when it came it was splendid. Dare looked with anxious
satisfaction, over a soup tureen, at the various spiced and glazed forms
of indigestion, sufficient for a dozen people, which covered the table.
It grieved him that Ruth, confronted by a spreading ham, and Mr. Alwynn,
half hidden by a bowlder of turkey, should have such moderate appetites.
But at least she was there, under his roof, at his table. It was not
surprising that he could eat nothing himself.

After supper, Mr. Alwynn, who combined the wisdom of the worldly serpent
with the harmlessness of the clerical dove, fell--not too
suddenly--asleep by the fire in the drawing-room, and Ruth and Dare went
into the hall, where the piano was. Dare opened it and struck a few
minor chords. Ruth sat down in a great carved arm-chair beside the fire.

The hall was only lighted by a few tall lamps high on pedestals against
the walls, which