Jack may be capable of much that is wicked, but he would never lift his hand against his friend,—of that I am assured. It was he who saw them first coming down the room—Annabel in a wonderful white satin gown in front, and Sir John stiff, unbending, disapproving, bringing up the rear. At length the manager arrived; and together he and Ruth succeeded in getting some of the aromatic spirits of ammonia down the patient's throat. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. There are times when you make me feel a little thing at your feet—a young, silly, protected thing.
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