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In seconds, they faced each other before the altar. " Ruth had read from page to page in "The Child's Garden of Verse," generally unfamiliar to the admirers of Stevenson. ’ ‘Just what I thought, miss. “—and your aunt—” For a time he searched for the mot juste. She had been built for canvas and oil-lamps, and this new thingumajig that kept her nose snoring at eight knots when normally she was able to boil along at ten, and these unblinking things they called lamps (that neither smoked nor smelled), irked and threatened to ruin her temper. No one would ever know what happened to him. He was walking listlessly along, well-dressed, debonnair, good-looking. And you think I would marry you?’ ‘Why not? I am unworthy, eh? Because I am a servant.
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