That was the true marvel of it. Wood in the deepest mourning. He had let go his name so easily as that! What was the name she had given? Ruth something; he could not remember. A man's laced hat,—whether adopted from the caprice of the moment, or habitually worn, we are unable to state,—cocked knowingly on her head, harmonized with her masculine appearance. She was still fully dressed; so all she had to do was to pause before the mirror and give her hair a few pats. " "Perhaps, I wasn't," returned Thames, gloomily, as the remembrance of Jonathan Wild's foul insinuation crossed him.
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