Philip Alston scarcely glanced at the judge and his nephew. He was
looking at Ruth, and noting with adoring eyes that her beauty had
blossomed like some rare flower of late. It seemed to him that the roses
on her fair cheeks were of a more exquisite, yet brighter tint, that her
eyes were bluer and brighter and softer than ever. There also appeared
to be a new maturity in the delicate curves of her graceful figure. But
there was no change in the childlike affection of her bearing toward
him. She clung round him just as she had always done, and when she
turned to leave his side to take a chair, he called her back,
unconsciously falling into the tone of fond playfulness that he had used
in her childhood.
"If a little girl about your size were to come and look in her uncle's
pockets, she might find something that she would like--"
Ruth did not wait for him to finish what he was saying, but ran to him
as if she had been the little toddler of other days, needing only the
sight of his dear face, or the sound of his kind voice, to fly into his
outstretched arms.
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