Just this? Parbleu, did he think this was enough? She did not wish to marry him—at least, not just because he was an Englishman. Here was an appalling fact: all her previous loneliness had been trifling beside that which now encompassed her and would for years to come. Was she a fool to wish a person of a disposition altogether not pleasing to marry her? Was it not true that he made a game with her very often? Had he not been extremely interfering from the beginning? And had he not kissed her, just when— Her thoughts skidded to a stop. She had found that proof. Here was the same Ruth who had left him a few minutes since: the same outwardly; and yet…! On the ninth day Spurlock was up and about; that is, he was strong enough to walk alone, from the companion to his chair, to lean upon the rail when the chair grew irksome, to join Ruth and his employer at lunch and dinner: strong enough to argue about books, music, paintings. “She’s going to have some sort of meal with the Widgetts down the Avenue, and go up with them. I am glad or sorry according as it has brought you happiness. “Mr. "Ay, ay," rejoined Sheppard; "he may do what he pleases,—hang me, if he thinks proper,—if you wish it.
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