Then she shook hands with her courtier, tapped his
cheek lightly with the grocer's book which she carried, and ran
lightly up the steps. The tall young man, his face aglow, stood
motionless where she left him, his straw hat in hand, until she
entered the house and closed the door behind her. David's last glimpse
of the suitor presented that person, with his chest out, his hands in
his pockets, striding off down the street, very much as if he owned
it. The young Virginian barely had time left to turn away from the
window before Ruby swept into the room.
He had noted, as she stood below, that her figure was a trifle fuller;
she was a bit more dashing, and a great deal handsomer than when he
had seen her last. Somehow, David, without intending to do so, found
himself mentally picturing her ten years hence: a stout, good-natured
matron with a double chin and a painful effort to disguise it.
He was not taken aback when she rushed over, with a little scream of
delight, and kissed him resoundingly. After which she shook hands with
him. It was what he expected. You could have heard the three of them
talking if you had been on the sidewalk, but you could not have made
head or tail of the conversation.
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