Wood's favourite sitting-room, and her image was so intimately associated with it, neither the carpenter nor his daughter could muster courage to enter it before. "Be ruled by me," returned Thames. He would sit in his inner office and compose conversations with her, penetrating, illuminating, and nearly conclusive—conversations that never proved to be of the slightest use at all with her when he met her face to face. " "What proof have you that I am?"—was the return bolt. . Ramage looked at her for a long and discriminating interval without speaking. With his black and gray hair, his gray-green eyes were a striking contrast and he looked even younger, as if he had been frozen at age thirty-three. A time may come when this little chap will need my aid, and, depend upon it, he shall never want a friend in Owen Wood.
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