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She never questioned the motives of the characters; she had neither the ability nor the conceit for that; but she could and often did correct his lapses in colour. "It was the story of a man, so to speak, who had left his vitals in his native land and wandered strange paths emptily. "If you are in earnest, Thames," she replied, with a look of gentle reproach, "you are very foolish; and, if in jest, very cruel. "No friend like the mother, for the babby knows no other. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. CHAPTER IX. Walking to the station with him.
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