"Of course. I like to see you. It--it seems so homey," and she showed him a blushing face and sparkling eyes for an instant at the curtained doorway of the inner room. She reappeared in the dressing sack, which was cut to reveal most charmingly her throat and forearms. Ryder watched her lazily through the smoke of his cigar while she performed the graceful rites of the hairdresser. He never remembered having seen a woman brush and arrange her hair before, and this intimate and innocent art of the toilet thrilled him. She had finished and turned to him with a smile for his approval when there came a rap on the door. She tripped across the room and opened it. "For Mrs. Ryder," mumbled the boy. "Oh! I thought they were for me!" Ruth exclaimed disappointedly. "You have come to the wrong suite, boy," and she closed the door lingeringly. Ryder sprang up, laughing. "What was it?" he asked. "Oh, such lovely flowers! A great heap of them." Ryder strode to the door, still chuckling. "She hasn't had it long enough to know her new name," he thought, and opened the door to call after the boy: "All right! Those flowers come here, sonny. Let me have 'em." He came back, bearing the heap of blossoms in his arms. "They're for you, girlie," he said. She uttered a little scream of delight and came at him like a small whirlwind. But she could not encircle both him and the roses in her embrace, so she satisfied herself for the moment with the flowers, sitting down in a low chair, with her face buried in the fragrant blossoms, and rocking herself to and fro in delight. "You will spoil me!" she said, looking up at him, as he stood above her with that broad, quiet smile of his stealing over his big face. John Ryder was by no means a handsome man, but he was good to look upon because of his manliness. "These are so beautiful! Let us fill every vase in the suite." This they did together. And every time their hands met (and, oh! how many times this happened as they divided or arranged the flowers) they both thrilled at the contact, looking at each other and smiling and coloring like two children caught in some innocent escapade. It was a happy hour--an hour quite unmarred by a thought or a suspicion of any possible disaster. On his part Ryder had forgotten what trouble was like. The patronage of the hotel was large all the year around, and at dinner they held the good-natured attention of the entire dining-room. There was a good orchestra, attentive waiters, soft lights, the murmur of conversation, fine women in fine gowns--everything to make the place attractive. Mrs. John Ryder in her plain traveling dress, however, was eclipsed by none of the other women.