"That we were afraid," replied the other; "but never mind her. The soil was identical, the climate; still, they would not bear the Olympian fruit, with its purple-lined jacket and its snow-white pulp. Chapter VI A QUESTION OF IDENTIFICATION The little man with the closely-cropped beard and hair looked at her keenly through his gold eye-glasses. Ruth's mind was fertile soil; for a long time to come it would be something of a hothouse: green things would spring up and blossom overnight. “In any case, there is probably some mistake. ’ ‘But where? Where has he gone? Always he goes off, and he says no word to anyone. "I'm come to say good bye to you, and to assure you of my safety before I leave this place. ” “I suppose people would say that it is a matter of temperament,” she continued. “Concern me!” she repeated fiercely.
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