“And yet she spoke quite prettily on the night.”
“I did not hear her.”
“Why, where were you while all the world was making merry on the stage?”
“Not with them; I was with the weary, heart-broken old man who passed out when joy began.”
“Ah! I fancied you did not half appreciate Gratiano’s jesting. Miss Levice, I am afraid you allow the sorry things of life to take too strong a hold on you. It is not right. I assure you for every tear there is a laugh, and you must learn to forget the former in the latter.”
“I am sorry,” replied Ruth, quite sadly; “but I fear I cannot learn that,—tears are always stronger than laughter. How could I listen to the others’ nonsense when my heart was sobbing with that lonely old man? Forgive me, but I cannot forget him.”
They walked along silently for some time. Instinctively, each felt the perfect accord with which they kept step. Ruth’s little ear was just about on a level with the doctor’s chin. He hardly felt the soft touch of her hand upon his sleeve; but as he looked at the white profile of her cheek against the dark fur of her collar, the knowledge that she was there was a pleasing one.
“Did you consider the length of our walk when you fell in with my desire?” he asked presently.
“I like a long walk in pleasant weather; I never tire of walking.”
“You have found the essentials of a good pedestrian,—health and strength.”