Sir John filled his glass with trembling hand. "My coat!" he repeated, his glance burning into hers. Curiosity to see what a sing-song girl was like took possession of Ruth's thoughts. She smiled and started for the stairs without reply. For the face under her gaze she could find but one expression—fine. "You'll not be offended, I hope," returned Wood, drily, "if I say that your voice, your manner, and, above all, your very extraordinary way of laughing, put me strangely in mind of one of the 'droll dogs,' (as you term them,) who helped to perpetrate the outrage I've just described. ” “You what?” she repeated incredulously. In vain he fondly urged his suit, And, all in vain, the question put; She answered,—"Mr.
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