The one profession, the one decent profession, I mean, for a woman—except the stage— is teaching, and there we trample on one another. On all hands Jack was cheered, and Jonathan hooted. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. There ends my duty. And, whatever you may think, I assure you, Jack's a downright goodnatured fellow. Will you not, brother?" "Promise," said a deep voice in Trenchard's ear. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. ' Why," said Ruth, "you did not read that to us.
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