She realised that her
happiness, his happiness--everything--was at stake. All Mrs. Falchion's
old self was battling with her new self. She had determined to abide by
the result of this meeting. She had spoken in a half gay tone, but her
words were not everything; the woman herself was there, speaking in every
feature and glance. Ruth had listened with an occasional change of
colour, but also with an outward pride to which she seemed suddenly to
have grown. But her heart was sick and miserable. How could it be
otherwise, reading, as she did, the tale just told her in a kind, of
allegory, in all its warning, nakedness, and vengeance? But she detected,
too, an occasional painful movement of Mrs. Falchion's lips, a kind of
trouble in the face. She noticed it at first vaguely as she listened to
the music in the other room; but at length she interpreted it aright, and
she did not despair. She did not then follow her first impulse to show
that she saw the real meaning of that speech, and rise and say, "You are
insulting," and bid her good-day.
After all, where was the ground for the charge of insult? The words had
been spoken impersonally.
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