The aunt rushed over to her nephew, knelt and wrapped him in her arms. He kissed her fingers and grinned. "Miss Enschede, you're seven kinds of a brick!" "A brick?" He chuckled. "I've been deceived by false information. ” He paused, with his eyes studying her gravely. Then, in a few years, he and Ruth might fare forth in comfort and security. Love anywhere. She was sore with the perplexities of her preposterous position. My only love is for my poor lost son. Later that night, after she had cleaned herself and changed her clothes, he returned. The couple reappeared from behind the curtains, both visibly shaken.
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