’ ‘What, even less delightful than Gerald?’ enquired Lucilla, her eyes dancing. ” She roused herself from some dream at the word. Her eyes were lit with mirth, the corners of her mouth quivered. The gale had become a hurricane: that hurricane was the most terrible that ever laid waste our city. The boiling under her stern, however, told him nothing. What hotel should she go to? If she told a cabman to drive to an hotel, any hotel, what would he do—or say? He might drive to something dreadfully expensive, and not at all the quiet sort of thing she required. " "I think I remember reading something about your father in the papers," observed Wood. " Ruth had read from page to page in "The Child's Garden of Verse," generally unfamiliar to the admirers of Stevenson. S.
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