CHAPTER XXIV. “I think,” he said, “that some one ought to warn her. A man's laced hat,—whether adopted from the caprice of the moment, or habitually worn, we are unable to state,—cocked knowingly on her head, harmonized with her masculine appearance. But why did he turn away? "Wait!" Ruth called to her father. “I think that I know very well what I am saying,” she answered. "You see?" Ruth said. But, since I've seen the friend and companion of my childhood, Thames Darrell, I've no heart for it. Was she so fearful still? Roding shrugged and grimaced. I wonder ——” “London is a huge place,” Brendon said. “I don’t know,” said Ann Veronica; “I think I am. “A Socialist of the order of John Ruskin. Let your father—if he chooses, leave all his wealth to his adopted son. . ’ I don’t know what you’d call it —a sort of witchery, almost suggestiveness.
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