Supper was over. “I’ve fallen in love. He took into his soul some of the father's misery, some of the daughter's, to mingle with his own. It comes to this—am I to be trusted to take care of myself, or am I not?” “To judge from this proposal of yours, I should say not. His interest was divided: while his ears drank in the sounds, his glance constantly roved from Ruth to the performer and back to Ruth. I dare say anything seemed better to her than the nun’s habit she had been obliged to use. Capes was something superadded. But she could not live in constant association with him without having these gaps filled.
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