Paris, 18. "Your wife?" "His lawful wife," said Ruth, with fine dignity. Yet he’s been here for six years, and he’s as much a fixture as that sham mahogany sideboard. The Ralphs and Mannings and Fortescues came down upon the raw inexperience, upon the blinking ignorance of the newcomer; and before her eyes were fairly open, before she knew what had happened, a new set of guides and controls, a new set of obligations and responsibilities and limitations, had replaced the old. "Help—I'll hold him!" "Leave her," cried Jack, darting down stairs, amid a furious ringing of bells, —"the house is alarmed,—follow me!" "Curses light on you!" cried Blueskin, savagely; "since you won't be advised, take your fate. I had no idea you were not the happiest girl. I'll be at the Cross Shovels in the course of the day. It is true that I do not love Ruth; but I swear to you, before the God of my fathers, that she shall never know it!" "I'll be getting along.
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