” 174 < 21 > THANKSGIVING She padded softly up the old stairs, exhausted and elated. ” He looked at her intensely, his dark eyes deepened with sleeplessness. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. ’ ‘In a somewhat roundabout fashion, if you ask me,’ came in a mutter from her old nurse, very much in her usual style. ’ ‘What?’ gasped Gerald, shocked. ’ He saw that Mrs Sindlesham, for all her vaunted freedom of speech, was honestly shocked by this revelation. Diable. Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. "I could almost forgive the wretch the injury he did me in depriving me of my poor dear wife—No, not quite that," he added, a little confused. “But, dear, think! He is your father. "Sir Cecil is no more.
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