“Fearful old fogey! I can’t imagine any sister of yours putting up with him for a moment. Still, thereafter she had avoided Morgan's; partly out of fear and partly because of her father's mandate. I am almost old enough to be your father. Her complexion was wan and faded, except where it was tinged by a slight hectic flush, that made the want of colour more palpable; her eyes were large and black, but heavy and lustreless; her cheeks sunken; her frame emaciated; her dark hair thickly scattered with gray. But his own ferocity was less now that she was disarmed. ’ She turned, her eyes narrowed. He looked up to see an ancient coach making its ponderous way down the street. Even in this dread moment Ruth was conscious of a pathetic interest in the scattering pencils.
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