"My portrait!" echoed Jack. His hand rested heavily and cruelly upon Ruth's shoulder. The ledge, along which he crawled, was about a foot wide. Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him. But it was only when that damned scoundrel nearly spitted you in the chapel—’ He broke off and, to her intense satisfaction she saw he was not as much in command of himself as he would have her believe. " "Well, I've a job open; but I don't want you to get the wrong idea of it. He had looked at it before without comprehension.
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