” He looked at her anxiously, and she met his glance with a dazzling smile of gratitude. The pursuit of pleasure, selfgratification, is an original instinct with her. From then on he was Ruth's dog. She cried as he watched, frozen to the ground. He was always deceived by these rustlings which promised wind and seldom fulfilled that promise. “Do you mean, aunt,” she asked, “that my father thought I had gone off—with some man?” “What else COULD he think? Would any one DREAM you would be so mad as to go off alone?” “After—after what had happened the night before?” “Oh, why raise up old scores? If you could see him this morning, his poor face as white as a sheet and all cut about with shaving! He was for coming up by the very first train and looking for you, but I said to him, ‘Wait for the letters,’ and there, sure enough, was yours. With what airs we human atoms invest ourselves! What ridiculous fancies of our importance! We believe we have destinies, when we have only destinations: that we are something immortal, when each of us is in truth only the repository of a dream. All at once he saw a way out of the threatening doldrums.
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