The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. “Really,” she said. There's something queer about that young man; but we'll never be able to find out what it is. He's the only native I trust in these parts. What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. “I never saw Courtlaw with her—never heard her speak of him. It has been a big night. But now you must be quiet; there's been too much excitement. ’ ‘He does not call himself my father, for he calls himself nothing at all,’ Melusine told him, her tone violent with fury. The pole-chair caravan resumed its journey. He seemed to charge her with the ruin of their situation.
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