"You could not, in a thousand years. Instead of saying, 'Good-morning, sir,' and dropping me a courtesy, she made herself very tall and said, with quite a grand air, 'I am the Queen of Sheba!' Just fancy it. Then she turned on her heel and ran up the road."
"Oh, that was very rude. Is this a true story, Mr. Lynde?"
"That is the sad part of it, Miss Ruth. This poor child had lost her reason, as I learned subsequently. She had wandered out of an asylum in the neighborhood. After a while some men came and took her back again—on my horse, which they had captured in the road."
"The poor, poor girl! I am sorry for her to the heart. Your story began like a real romance; is that all of it! It is sad enough."
"That is all. Of course I never saw her afterwards."
"But you remembered her, and pitied her?"
"For a long time, Miss Ruth."
"I like you for that. But what has this to do with me? You said"—
"The story touched on you indirectly?"
"Yes."