Montague Hill was taken for the millionaire once or twice, and I suppose it flattered his vanity. 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. "Shpeak up, vill you?" cried Abraham, rapping his knuckles against the hatch. Mr. ’ ‘What young lady?’ demanded a voice from the back of the hall. “Tut, tut!” he said. ‘Still—here? Wasting your—time. His fears supplied him with unwonted vigour. .
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