She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. What is your father's business?" The question was an impertinence, but Ruth was not aware of that. By and by—as the paroxysm subsided and he became motionless—she stole back to the bungalow to wait. Wood sank, submissively, into a chair, while his daughter hastened to execute her arbitrary parent's commission. ‘I am not in the least in a rage.
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