Yet he was in a state of hopeless bewilderment. He blurted, “I was just telling Lucy that I have finished an important work. Jackson, mean time, produced a pocket-book; and, after deliberately sharpening the point of a pencil, began to write on a blank leaf. He glanced at Ruth (who had stood with her back to the wall, pinned there throughout the contest by terror and the knowledge of her own helplessness), then at the bronze menace, and calculated correctly that this particular adventure was finished. “Yes, I know. I could make away with him at once, as you are about to make away with your nephew, Sir Rowland,—but that wouldn't serve my turn. " Mr. ‘Very wise,’ commented Gerald. “I wish he had,” she said. Ruth crossed over to the dramatist of this tragicomedy and put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't mention it," returned Wood, in the conciliatory tone of one who admits he has been in the wrong; "your explanation is perfectly satisfactory.
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