" "It shall be, Sir," replied Ireton, bowing. “When can we be alone together?” She asked him, never loosening her grip. He refrained from pointing out that the case would be exactly the same if she was not a lady. She saw it, and checked without thinking. Spurling, and her now accepted suitor, resumed their seats. But she threw a verbal bombshell into the spinsters' camp. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. Ruth did not reply, but stared past the doctor, her eyes misty. Marthe has told me that the house comes to my mother, Ma—ry Re—men—ham. .
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