I just thought perhaps a different boy was in store for you. How dare you use my name and sing my songs?” Anna looked at her sister in blank amazement. Ruth's emotion was a primitive joy: she was essential in this man's life, and she would always be happy because he would always be needing her. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. There were one or two bitter moments in his life when he had been made to feel that gentility laid on with a brush may sometimes crack and show weak places—that deportment and breeding are after all things apart. The old woman told him she had no such article to dispose of, but recommended him to a neighbouring blacksmith.
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