"Sir!" exclaimed Winifred, rising. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. . Ruth's emotion was a primitive joy: she was essential in this man's life, and she would always be happy because he would always be needing her. His back was no sooner turned, than she slipped this casket into the box. In no way could he be said to contribute to the gaiety of the little party. Simply. CHAPTER XV.
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