None of this by-play escaped Ruth, whose sense of humour needed no developing. This man was apparently not sure whether he was Meysey Hill or not. Like the parrot, she could memorize the lines, but she could not understand them. “I have made over seven hundred pounds in the last week,” he said. At last she was roused. Left to himself, he took a survey of the room, and his heart leaped as he beheld over the, chimney-piece, a portrait of himself. Spare me yet a little while, Father! not for my own sake, but for the sake of this poor babe. ‘We needn’t murder Lucia. ” “Every one hasn’t the Gift. So long as he lived, Spurlock knew that in fancy he would be reconstructing that scene between himself and Ruth's father. You need fear no interruption from him, or any of his myrmidons.
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