" Again Ruth nodded. No doubt she was wondering what he had done in Charvill’s house and what he intended now. Oh, Heavens; that I should have ever indulged a hope of happiness while that terrible man lives!" "Compose yourself, Joan," said Wood; "all will yet be well. "It is easy to make an assertion like this," said Thames, contemptuously. Heaven knows why! They don’t marry most of us off now until high up in the twenties. Don’t you care for Nigel at all?” Anna was silent for a moment or two. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels.
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