How she hated talking of the man who was responsible for her being brought into the world. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. "He is dying?" whispered Ruth. ” “I have a clue, at any rate,” he remarked, smiling. That's part of the bargain. ” She batted his arms and slapped him, angrily twisting from his grasp. I had no idea even that she was a friend of yours.
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