"Eh-day! what's this?" cried Wood, looking up from beneath his spectacles. She could tell it was new territory for him and he might lose the nerve to take them off himself, without the aid of drink. The study seemed absolutely unaltered, there was still the same lamp with a little chip out of the shade, still the same gas fire, still the same bundle of blue and white papers, it seemed, with the same pink tape about them, at the elbow of the arm-chair, still the same father. "Well," she said, in reply, "I may have done Jack an injustice. “Call me Cathy, John. ” She made her glasses glint. There was Major Price—you must recollect him, Sir Rowland,—he stumbled as he was getting out of his chair at that very gate. I can’t love you.
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