"What!" exclaimed Craig, Sr., "bless my soul, you're only a boy, John."
"Twenty-three, sir," promptly.
"Yes, you're right. Time flies. You've given me quite a little shock, but, by Jove! I'm already favorably impressed with your taste. Will you allow me the privilege of a kiss, my dear?"
"Sir!" indignantly, for in the dim light she does not see that his mustache is snow-white, as is also his hair.
Her tragic attitude rather alarms John.
"Ruth, it's my father!" he cries.
This alters the case.
"Your father! Oh! John, has he—" She sees the warning finger her betrothed raises up, and stops suddenly, for she has been about to say something relative to the presence of Sister Magdalen in the city.
The elder Craig raises the shade, and in the new light Lady Ruth sees a remarkably handsome man of middle age, even distinguished in his manner.
Then he is John's father, too, and that makes quite a difference. She approaches, with hand extended.