I don’t suppose a girl can tell if a man is in love with her or not in love with her. She says she will have to, though she does not wish to. "Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. 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. Her knees almost sank beneath her as she raised the latch of the front door and looked out.
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