"There's an old proverb," continued Wood, rising and walking towards the fire, "which says,—'Put another man's child in your bosom, and he'll creep out at your elbow. ‘I wish you joy of the wench. He did not like it. This happened after he ate. But why did he turn away? "Wait!" Ruth called to her father. ” “I mean—” “I behaved like an idiot, that’s all. She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. You have said a thousand times that there was no shame in you. Let us be friends—as near and close as friends can be.
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