“Were you ever in love, aunt?” she asked. For her it was sufficient to know that somebody wanted her, that never again would she be alone, that always this boy with the dreams would be depending upon her. Love … to take her in his arms and to comfort her: and then to add to her cup of bitterness the knowledge that her husband was a thief! For himself he did not care; God could continue to grind and pulverize him; but to add another grain to the evil he had already wrought upon Ruth was unthinkable. “In Paris our lives were far apart, and we had seldom the same friends. What!— you know so little of that child? She ran away from you. .
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