“Oh, my dear!” she cried, and suddenly flung herself, kneeling, into her husband’s arms. And for twelve years he has been so; until his long security, well-nigh obliterating remembrance of the deed, has bred almost a sense of innocence within his breast. It won’t even know whether to be scandalized at us or forgiving. He ran back to his car, glancing only once at the man in the car. Yet her hands dropped, and she sighed deeply. “Perhaps,” he queried, “you wish to avoid being seen about with any one—er— connected with the profession, under present circumstances. Ruth's gaze wandered from the printed page.
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