And always he saw that particular picture.

Sometimes it was she who leaned against him while he read, one arm about her, her head upon his shoulder.

Sometimes they pored together over the printed pages of beauty.

Then, too, she loved nature, and with generous imagination he changed the scene of their reading--sometimes they read in closed-in valleys with precipitous walls, or in high mountain meadows, and, again, down by the gray sand-dunes with a wreath of billows at their feet, or afar on some volcanic tropic isle where waterfalls descended and became mist, reaching the sea in vapor veils that swayed and shivered to every vagrant wisp of wind.

But always, in the foreground, lords of beauty and eternally reading and sharing, lay he and Ruth, and always in the background that was beyond the background of nature, dim and hazy, were work and success and money earned that made them free of the world and all its treasures.
"I should recommend my little girl to be careful," her mother warned her one day.
"I know what you mean.