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One side of the face was white with foamy lather and the other ruddy-cheeked and blue-jawed. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. It is not well that a daughter should talk to her father as Ruth talked to hers that day. ‘She knows them. As she started, rearing up her head, a hand stole about her mouth and closed down hard. “After all,” he said, “I am not sure that you are not a very material person. “How dare you!” she panted, with her world screaming and grimacing insult at her. He has been a father to me and my child. But, when I look upon his innocent face, and see how like he is to his father,—when I think of that father's shameful ending, and recollect how free from guilt he once was,—at such times, Mr. He has helped me out of scrapes though, no end of times.
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