" On quitting the Lodge, Wild repaired to his own habitation. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. But all these hours, trying to teach the child wariness toward life, and the moment his back was turned, this! He was, perhaps, still dazed by the inner revelation—his own interest in Ruth. “If I didn’t love you better than myself,” said Capes, “I wouldn’t fence like this with you. ‘All these soldiers,’ she complained, adding with a sweep of one arm at the major’s dress, ‘all of them in red as you. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. Nothing anyone could say or do would change him. Manning would on no account do, though he was tall and dark and handsome and kind, and thirty-five and adequately prosperous, and all that a husband should be. Beauty doesn’t mean, never has meant, anything—anything at all but you. “I saw him stagger and sink down, and the pistol was smoking still in my hand. Peste, she had forgot the sword.
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