It might prove rewarding. With a rustle of her full lilac petticoats, Miss Froxfield turned back to Alderley. It’s all very fine and all that, Vee, this freedom, but it isn’t going to work. Courtlaw, is it not,” she remarked, with lifted eyebrows. How little he knew about Ruth—the background from which she had sprung! He knew that her father was a missioner, that her mother was dead, that she had been born on this island, and that, at the time of his collapse, she had been on the way to an aunt in the States. We can’t afford to turn our women, our Madonnas, our Saint Catherines, our Mona Lisas, our goddesses and angels and fairy princesses, into a sort of man. One night she apparently fell asleep. Prudence.
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