"
"Blessings upon him!" cried Lady Trafford, fervently. He gave her
one of the sweaty red cans. Neither did his interest,—which was by no means
inconsiderable,—nor his general popularity, procure him the preferment he
desired. I had to ask Mr. Dump
popped his head into the cage. A slow horror was dawning in his
fixed eyes. The life of a girl presented itself to her as something happy and heedless and
unthinking, yet really guided and controlled by others, and going on amidst
unsuspected screens and concealments. ‘Forgive my not rising to greet you,’ she said, holding out a claw-like hand. I was Annabel
the rake, ‘Alcide’ of the music halls. Glorious! The Pastoral. I want you to
understand clearly that I was indebted to the man in many small ways. In fine, to marry
Ruth (if she would consent) as a punishment for what he had done! To whip his
soul so long as he lived, but to let his body go free! To provide for her, to work
and dream for her, to be tender and thoughtful and loyal, to shelter and guard
her, to become accountable to God for her future. He was speechless.
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