His food lay untouched about his plate. . She was standing before a window, against the background of the rain-burdened April sky. Ruth's mind was fertile soil; for a long time to come it would be something of a hothouse: green things would spring up and blossom overnight. “Too much sensibility and too cold a heart. ’ ‘What?’ Appalled, Gerald could only gaze at her. She saw her mother, her pale face, a woman in a white robe, calling to her from a sun drenched balcony. Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would always keep hidden from her, at least human love. Her head had been shaved, and around it was swathed a piece of rag, in which a few straws were stuck. " "Ah!" ejaculated the widow, hiding her face. “I tell my Mom everything.
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