He was yellow and coarse of hair; flea-bitten, too; and even as he smiled at Ruth and wagged his stumpy tail, he was forced to turn savagely upon one of these disturbers who had no sense of the fitness of things. "How do I know you are a friend?" asked Darrell. "Try!" Enraged at the assurance of his mistress, the woollen-draper endeavoured to carry his threat into execution, but all his efforts to remove her were unavailing. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. ‘Your master in?’ he demanded of the astonished footman, removing his cockaded hat and handing it over. The hard work will be his, until we yank this young fellow back from the brink. Or, if this goodlooking young fellow will only say the word, I'll go with him. This world over here! Everything's upsidedown or back-end-to. Now when I tell you exactly the truth, you will also not believe me. I do want them. Wood," she cried, as the staff fell from his grasp. Why don’t you wait and see if you do truly love me, then I can believe you? Then I know I am worth waiting for.
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