It is not easy for me to decide a momentous question, but, having decided, I am apt to be firm.

Perhaps--unreasonably firm.

I would not have you imagine I had, in any way, changed my mind, as it were--yet I have recurred, occasionally, in my thoughts, to Miss Ruth.

I should not wish to seem to slight Miss Ruth, Gifford ?" "She could not feel it so, I know," the young man answered.
But Mr.Denner's thoughts apparently dwelt upon it, for twice again, in intervals of those waking dreams, or snatches of sleep, he said, quite to himself, "It is decided; yet it would seem marked to pass over Miss Ruth." And again he murmured, "I should not wish to slight Miss Deborah's sister." Later in the afternoon he wakened, with a bright, clear look in his face.
"It occurs to me," he said, "that I have another portrait, of no value at all compared with the miniature (and of course it is becoming that the miniature should go to Miss Deborah), which I might give to Miss Ruth.
Because she is the sister of Miss Deborah, you understand, Gifford.
Perhaps you will be so good as to hand me the square package from that same little drawer?
Here is the key." Gifford brought it: it was a daguerreotype case, much worn and frayed along the leather back, and without the little brass hooks which used to fasten it; instead, a bit of ribbon had been tied about it to keep it closed.

Mr.Denner did not open it; he patted the faded green bow with his little thin fingers.
"It is a portrait of myself," he said.