He pressed the long shapely hand warmly in his. ‘At last,’ he cried, ‘I have found you!’ He would listen to nothing. To be with you is the best moral tonic I know. He knew that at this moment Ruth lay upon her bed in torment, for she was by nature tender; and the reaction of her scathing words, no matter how justifiable, would be putting scars on her soul. At the first glance, he imagined he must have stumbled upon a museum of rarities, there were so many glass-cases, so many open cabinets, ranged against the walls; but the next convinced him that if Jonathan was a virtuoso, his tastes did not run in the ordinary channels. Ruth stared into the painted face, now sundrily cracked by the coursing tears. It doesn’t seem to matter.
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