"What shall I say? Shall I tell you, or shall I leave you in the dark—as I must always leave her? What shall I say except that I am accursed of men? Yes; I have loved something—her mother. Besides, you cannot visit people armed with a pistol in London, you know. “Yes,” she answered, looking away. Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. Mistresses neither deserve consideration nor commiseration. ‘Yes, but I’m probably chasing moonbeams. Thus, more and more Ruth turned to the mongrel dog who bore the name of Rollo unflinchingly—the dog that adored her openly, shamelessly, who now without a whimper took his diurnal tubbing. He removed his cocked hat and came towards her. Footman or some such. You go cheer him up.
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