‘Courage,’ urged her spouse. "I declare you throw me into an ague. ” She paused, and he waited for her to speak. She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping. “It was a bad day for me,” he said, speaking slowly and painfully. He flung Ruth aside, careless whether she fell or not. Keeping hold of the doorhandle, she turned slowly. He was accompanied by a young man of about seven-and-twenty, who carried his easel, set it in its place, laid the canvass upon it, opened the paint box, took out the brushes and palette, and, in short, paid him the most assiduous attention. "You are angry?" "Very.
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