Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. “How fortunate I am, Miss Pellissier! All day I have been hoping that I might run across you. Oh, yes; of Ruth herself he knew much; but the more he mulled over what he knew, the deeper grew his chagrin. Sheppard, which she gratefully declined. “Loneliness,” she said, “is a luxury which I never permit myself. And Doctor Ralph stood by looking considerate. Their chit-chat stopped when they reached the bench.
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