Then, naturally, I went on talking. She did her best to do this. Ruth had not expected to be kissed; so the omission passed unnoted. "Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?" "You're not dreaming, mother," he answered. She had begun to care about her appearance again, looking into the glass he gave her, a thing nearly priceless that was bordered in intricate golden filigree and rubies. Upon a table, where they had been hastily deposited, on the intelligence of Darrell's accident, lay a pair of pink kid gloves, bordered with lace, and an enormous fan; the latter, when opened, represented the metamorphosis and death of Actæon. When she slipped off of it her head started to bob, filled with air.
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