When my father died, and we were left alone in Jersey, I was quite a long time deciding whether I would go in for singing professionally or try painting. " CHAPTER IV. ] CHAPTER VIII Slowly Ruth entered her own room. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. Her aunt was blandly amiable above a certain tremulous undertow, and talked as if to a caller about the alarming spread of marigolds that summer at the end of the garden, a sort of Yellow Peril to all the smaller hardy annuals, while her father brought some papers to table and presented himself as preoccupied with them.
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