Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother. They were enormously pleased with one another; they found each other beyond measure better than they had expected, if only because of the want of substance in mere expectation. “Well, I do. To be sure, Ruth had dimly been aware of this; but now for the first time she was made painfully conscious of it. “I’m glad you’re all right,” he said, “because we want you to do us a favour. I hope I may never come near her. Then she reverted to the trousers. “Suppose you call me by my proper name,” she said quietly. It makes me desire life beyond measure. He had heard me sing—the fool thought himself in love with me.
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