"May I beg to know whom I've the pleasure of adressing? Jackson, I conclude, is merely an assumed name. We may meet—who can tell? But I will not be fettered, even though you would make the chains of roses. He did not want Ruth to see his own stricken countenance; nor did he care to see hers, ravaged by tears. Niece and aunt regarded each other for a moment over their pockethandkerchiefs with watery but antagonistic eyes, each far too profoundly moved to see the absurdity of the position. 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.
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