She paused. "You will make me the happiest of mankind," cried the woollen-draper, falling on his knees, and seizing her hand, which he devoured with kisses. You jumped, and I think that you left me. People running, screaming, hiding. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. “I suppose,” said her father, “I have read at least half the novels that have been at all successful during the last twenty years. ” Like most men who lie but seldom, he lied well.
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