"Not in the least," returned Kneebone, slyly, "not in the least. . " He offered cigars, and Ruth got up. A man's laced hat,—whether adopted from the caprice of the moment, or habitually worn, we are unable to state,—cocked knowingly on her head, harmonized with her masculine appearance. His eyes were red. My eyes are open to you. The resemblance was amazing! And some man—he was good-looking—was in the background. . “My dear man,” she exclaimed, “wasn’t that a foregone conclusion?” “You treat the matter lightly,” he continued.
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