His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. " "But you will,—won't you?" she rejoined, looking him coaxingly in the face. Two or three podgy-looking old men with wives to match, half-a-dozen overdressed girls, and a couple of underdressed American ones, who still wore the clothes in which they had been tramping half over London since breakfast time. Ruth, standing by, heard his true laughter for the first time. “You’re splendid. Everybody seemed greatly concerned about the sincerity of Tolstoy.
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