Ruth obeyed, not willingly, but because there was something hypnotic in the authoritative tone. "Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. For a moment her thoughts led her back to the evening when she and Courtlaw had stood together before the window of her studio in Paris, before the coming of Sir John had made so many changes in her life. “You’ve been sneaking out just as often as Mary Lucia. Jonathan Wild?" asked the attendant, in great trepidation. It was apparent, and then it faded into the quality of an inevitable necessity. “I’ll get dressed. "I am happy—quite happy now. ” They entered the place, a pleasant little café of the sort to be met with in the outlying parts of Paris. Still he looked hale and hearty, and the country life he led had imparted a ruddier glow to his cheek.
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