Mrs. She could feel Martin’s eyes boring into her as she entered the room, her own personal Farhat. She forbade him to escape to his workshop in the basement during those times, denying him his one and only hobby. “I am bored,” she said abruptly. Sheppard's dress—extremely neat and clean, but simply fashioned, and of the plainest and most unpretending material,—offered nothing assailable; and her demeanour was so humble, and her looks so modest, that—if she had been ill-looking—she might, possibly, have escaped the shafts of malice preparing to be levelled against her. To be sure, Ruth had dimly been aware of this; but now for the first time she was made painfully conscious of it. He smiled tenderly.
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