Her husband was drinking in the tavern with the other guests. Ruth's emotion was a primitive joy: she was essential in this man's life, and she would always be happy because he would always be needing her. “What you have done. Nobody can anticipate your next move. But now you must be quiet; there's been too much excitement. I didn’t! I didn’t! After all—” For a time her mind ran on daintiness and its defensive restraints as though it was the one desirable thing. ” She turned her face to the fire, gripped her hands upon her elbows, and drew her thin shoulders together in a shrug. It would be protective; it would with age turn to silver unnoticeably. Wood had the advantage of her husband in point of years, being on the sunny side of forty,—a period pronounced by competent judges to be the most fascinating, and, at the same time, most critical epoch of woman's existence,—whereas, he was on the shady side of fifty,—a term of life not generally conceived to have any special recommendation in female eyes.
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