The floor was strewn with screws, nails, fragments of wood and stone, and across the passage lay the heavy iron fillet. “Don’t you know?” “Oh! I know—” “Well—” Her face was an unaccustomed pink. None of this by-play escaped Ruth, whose sense of humour needed no developing. The river, the big buildings on the north bank, Westminster, and St. Sheppard's dress—extremely neat and clean, but simply fashioned, and of the plainest and most unpretending material,—offered nothing assailable; and her demeanour was so humble, and her looks so modest, that—if she had been ill-looking—she might, possibly, have escaped the shafts of malice preparing to be levelled against her. "I've made no distinction between you, hitherto," answered Wood; "nor shall I do so, unless I'm compelled.
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