She got out of bed, her eyes still half-closed, and stood slack jawed. Here, indeed, was a type with which he had never until now come into contact—a natural woman. "A doctor at once!" cried Ruth excitedly. “Well,” he said, argumentatively, “it IS. ‘I’m on your side. You don’t have to have a lot of money to have your own style. ” He asked questions and listened to her views for a time. Upon a table, where they had been hastily deposited, on the intelligence of Darrell's accident, lay a pair of pink kid gloves, bordered with lace, and an enormous fan; the latter, when opened, represented the metamorphosis and death of Actæon. He said the place had gone to wrack. She ought to be softened and tender and confidential at this phase of her life. Too many. Then, quite insensibly, her queenliness had declined.
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