On the next morning—Sunday—the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road. It might be upset. I don’t want you to be sad. " "Willingly. I wonder whether you would mind, Lady Ferringhall,” he went on, with a sudden glance at her, “if I tell you that you yourself remind me a great deal more of what she was like then, except of course that your complexion and colouring are altogether different. No, no! Not now!" Ruth turned abruptly and walked toward the bungalow, mounted the veranda steps, and vanished within.
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