She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. She spoke with a certain odd deliberation carefully chosen words which fell like drops of ice upon the man who sat listening. "Confusion!" he cried; "something has happened. With a well-simulated unconcern and a heightened color she finished her breakfast. "I beg your pardon," he cried; "but really—ha! ha!—you must excuse me!—that is so uncommonly diverting—ha! ha! Do let me hear it again?—ha! ha! ha!" "Upon my word," rejoined Wood, "you seem vastly entertained by my misfortunes.
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