Sometimes—a lonely forlorn child—she had gone to him and put her arms around his neck. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. Well, my dear, it is time you stopped wallowing in your sorrows like a common wretch. And you promised to tell me. It was no marriage at all. It was maddening to be made to feel that he was in any way the inferior of this cool, self-possessed young woman, whose eyes seemed for a moment to scintillate with scorn. A lesson learned.
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