She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. He was scarcely concealed when he heard the horsemen, who perceived they had overshot their mark, ride back. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. "No; I don't think I'd laugh. “We have to be— modern. Ruth stared thoughtfully at the waiting coolies. Preparations were next made for taking Thames on board.
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