She wondered if he was already tired of her, if he would rudely push her away as one would a prostitute. Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. “I’m not that beautiful. His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. Forgetting her occupation in her anger, she left off bathing Darrell's wrist; and, squeezing his arm so tightly that the boy winced with pain, she clapped her right hand upon her hip, and turned, with flashing eyes and an inflamed countenance, towards her crest-fallen spouse. And the change, the change of attitude! The way all the old clingingness has been thrown aside is amazing. Everything, Miss Miniver said, was “working up,” everything was “coming on”—the Higher Thought, the Simple Life, Socialism, Humanitarianism, it was all the same really. Besides, there are greater rascals than Jack Sheppard at liberty, Sir Rowland. It will be horribly dull, and she is a very trying person. She sings better perhaps. " "He's no such thing!" cried Mrs. " "In whose favour is it made?" he inquired, sternly.
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