. She loved to be told to do things. The picture of Mary Remenham was still on the wall. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. Stanley, to which the two ladies subordinated themselves intelligently. ‘Seen her again, have you? Well, if she’s been giving you as much saucy impudence as I’ve had to contend with, I can only say I’m glad of it. The other lay unconscious in a heap. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth.
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