She slipped down the perfunctory flight of stairs, short because of the home’s split-level style. Now we meet again, and you will scarcely look at me. “Don’t!” she begged. A pair of long-lashed blue eyes studied them both as she slowly brought her hands down to rest by her sides. Only one thing emerged with any reasonable clarity in her mind at once, and that was that unless she was saved from drowning by an unmarried man, in which case the ceremony is unavoidable, or totally destitute of under-clothing, and so driven to get a trousseau, in which hardship a trousseau would certainly be “ripping,” marriage was an experience to be strenuously evaded. He winced from the wasp-like sting. Ruth's arm trembled and her step faltered, but he was too far away in thought to be observant.
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