Her father gave one of his ghostly grunts. “You like the stores—that’s what you like most, I guess.” The young lady addressed herself to me without heeding this charge. “I suppose you feel quite at home here.” “Oh he likes it—he has got used to the life. He says you _can_!” Mr. Ruck proclaimed. “I wish you’d teach Mr. Ruck then,” said his wife. “It seems as if he couldn’t get used to anything.” “I’m used to you, my dear,” he retorted, but with his melancholy eyes on me. “He’s intensely restless,” continued Mrs. Ruck. “That’s what made me want to come to a pension. I thought he’d settle down more.” “Well, lovey,” he sighed, “I’ve had hitherto mainly to settle up!” In view of a possible clash between her parents I took refuge in conversation with Miss Ruck, who struck me as well out in the open—as leaning, subject to any swing, so to speak, on the easy gate of the house of life. I learned from her that with her companions, after a visit to the British islands, she had been spending a month in Paris and that she thought she should have died on quitting that city. “I hung out of the carriage, when we left the hotel—I assure you I did. And I guess mother did, too.” “Out of the other window, I hope,” said I. “Yes, one out of each window”—her promptitude was perfect. “Father had hard work, I can tell you. We hadn’t half-finished—there were ever so many other places we wanted to go to.” “Your father insisted on coming away?” “Yes—after we had been there about a month he claimed he had had enough. He’s fearfully restless; he’s very much out of health. Mother and I took the ground that if he was restless in Paris he needn’t hope for peace anywhere. We don’t mean to let up on him till he takes us back.” There was an air of keen resolution in Miss Ruck’s pretty face, of the lucid apprehension of desirable ends, which made me, as she pronounced these words, direct a glance of covert compassion toward her poor recalcitrant sire. He had walked away a little with his wife, and I saw only his back and his stooping patient-looking shoulders, whose air of acute resignation was thrown into relief by the cold serenity of his companion. “He’ll have to take us back in September anyway,” the girl pursued; “he’ll have to take us back to get some things we’ve ordered.” I had an idea it was my duty to draw her out. “Have you ordered a great many things?” “Well, I guess we’ve ordered _some_. Of course we wanted to take advantage of being in Paris—ladies always do. We’ve left the most important ones till we go back. Of course that’s the principal interest for ladies. Mother said she’d feel so shabby if she just passed through. We’ve promised all the people to be right there in September, and I never broke a promise yet. So Mr. Ruck has got to make his plans accordingly.” “And what are his plans?” I continued, true to my high conception.