Ruth's mind was fertile soil; for a long time to come it would be something of a hothouse: green things would spring up and blossom overnight. It consisted of a close jerkin of brown frieze, ornamented with a triple row of brass buttons; loose Dutch slops, made very wide in the seat and very tight at the knees; red stockings with black clocks, and a fur cap. A victim of one of those mental typhoons that scatter irretrievably the barriers of instinct and breeding; and he had gone on the rocks all in a moment. She could accord her father with one grace: he was not in any manner a hypocrite. The candle was shaking in his hand as Ruth appeared in the doorway. Let this be a caution to you in future—with whom, and about what you deal. You shall behold him. Nothing would stop her, and she was prepared to face the consequences. She was flushed, and her eyes were bright and angry; her breath came sobbing, and her hair was all abroad in wandering strands of black. Annabel shook her head. ‘Jacques, where are you hurt?’ But as she asked the question, she saw the wound. I’d ruin the things if I so much as touched one.
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