“That's because you're not educated, dearest,” returned Ruth, sweetly. “When you're married, you'll know a great deal more about china—you see if you don't.”
They lingered until it was so dark that they could scarcely see each other's faces. “We'll come up again to-morrow,” she said. “Wait a minute.”
She groped over to the east window, where there was still a faint glow, and lighted the lamp, which stood in its accustomed place, newly filled.
“You're not going to leave it burning, are you?” he asked.
“Yes, Aunt Jane has a light in this window every night.”
“Why, what for?”
“I don't know, dearest. I think it's for a lighthouse, but I don't care. Come, let's go downstairs.”
XIV. “For Remembrance”
The next day, while Ruth was busily gathering up her few belongings and packing her trunk, Winfield appeared with a suggestion regarding the advisability of outdoor exercise. Uncle James stood at the gate and watched them as they went down hill. He was a pathetic old figure, predestined to loneliness under all circumstances.