’ *** Everett, General Lord Charvill, master of a barony stretching over a wide estate that encroached on the hundreds of Witham, Thurstable and Dengy, stood before his own fireplace, glaring at his visitors from under bushy white brows from a head held necessarily low above a back painfully bent by rheumatism. Nevertheless there came a residuum of expostulations. But all these hours, trying to teach the child wariness toward life, and the moment his back was turned, this! He was, perhaps, still dazed by the inner revelation—his own interest in Ruth. It was one of those old sliding trap affairs, narrow and steep of descent. "Do you see any likeness?" "Don't I," returned Jack, bitterly.
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