‘But this is altogether a chance of the luckiest. “I believe,” he said slowly, “that I shall do best to throw myself upon your consideration and tell you the truth. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. He drew compellingly upon his new characters to keep him out of this melancholy channel; but they ebbed and ebbed; he could not hold them. Never! Perhaps some day, quite soon, she might regret that breakfast-room. He was yellow and coarse of hair; flea-bitten, too; and even as he smiled at Ruth and wagged his stumpy tail, he was forced to turn savagely upon one of these disturbers who had no sense of the fitness of things. A pig, yes, a little. ’ ‘Well, sir? Who is “she”? Not my granddaughter, I take it.
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