Let’s go up to my room. With a cry of distress, she dropped the pistol and flew after him, racing past him to the door. His manner was deferential, even eager. America, the land of rosy apples and snowstorms, beckoned, and she wanted to fly thitherward. There was no way of recalling the words; so she waited. Moments are ages now. The evening was warm and inviting, one meant to be spent outdoors. But all these hours, trying to teach the child wariness toward life, and the moment his back was turned, this! He was, perhaps, still dazed by the inner revelation—his own interest in Ruth.
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