However, I soon perceived that Ruth changed colour, too, when we met; and my heart leaped joyously, when playfully she kissed her hand to me at parting. I felt that I loved her dearly and deeply, but how was I to tell her so? In all the romances lent to me by my friend, the milliner, the tall and handsome heroes, cast their plumed beavers and ample mantles on the ground, and flung themselves on their knees before their mistresses, beseeching them, in piercing accents, to make them the happiest of men, by giving them even the tips of their snowy fingers to kiss; but I lacked the courage to imitate these striking proceedings; moreover, I possessed neither velvet mantle nor ostrich plume. One evening, old Nathan was absent on business, and Ruth and I were seated in the recess of a window, looking at a collection of Hogarth's prints. We sat close, very close together, for the window was narrow, and then the volume was so large that we both required to hold it. I felt Ruth's breath at times upon my cheek, and our hands touched every time we turned a leaf. Her pretty bosom, that heaved beneath her bodice, which was cut square at the neck, and somewhat low in front; her snow-white arms, that came tapering forth from the loose falling sleeves of her black dress, and her delicate little hands so bewildered me, that I never saw the prints with which we were supposed to be engrossed. I saw Ruth--Ruth only, and felt all the joy her presence inspired. I knew that we both spoke at random, and were somewhat confused in our questions and answers; still more confused in our long pauses. I would have given the world to have clasped this plump little Ruth to my breast; yet I dared scarcely to touch her hand. As we stooped over the print of "Love à la Mode," her bent head, her white temple, and rich soft hair touched mine, and she did not withdraw. For a few seconds we sat thus, head reclined against head; then I panted rather than breathed, as my arm stole round her waist, and my trembling lips were pressed upon her pure forehead. Mr. William Hogarth was permitted to fall ignominiously on the carpet; and we sat thus entwined in each other's arms for a long time--I know not how long--till the twilight deepened round us, and we were roused from our dream of happiness by a harsh and croaking voice, which exclaimed: "Fool that I am, not to have foreseen this!" We started and found ourselves confronted by Mr. Nathan Wylie, whose grey eyes glared in the dusk like those of a polecat, through the rims of his horn spectacles. Poor Ruth uttered a cry and fled; but I turned boldly and faced the enemy.