He overlooks the peculiar patronizing air, such as a young woman
sometimes assumes toward a boy her junior.

"Lady Ruth, the person you refer to, the thought of whom sent me to save
that child, bears what is to me the holiest name on earth--mother."

She draws a quick breath.

"Forgive me. I was rude."

"Not at all. My words admitted of just such a meaning as you placed upon
them."

"You left her in Chicago, of course."

John looks at her steadily.

"Lady Ruth, it may sound strange to you after what I have said, but my
memories of my mother are all confined to the far past, to a period when
I was a mere child; but they are none the less previous on that account."

She looks puzzled, as well she may.

"Do you mean she is--dead?"

"Heaven forbid, but I have not seen her in all these years. That is one
reason I am abroad, Lady Ruth. I have a sacred mission to perform--to
find my mother--to seek the solution of a mystery which has embittered
my life. Perhaps some time, if we know each other a little better, I may