The arrangement had been made by the town matchmaker, a frightening old oak of a man. “Have some more port wine, sir?” “It’s a very sound wine,” said Mr. Taking off his stockings, he then drew up the basils as far as he was able, and tied the fragments of the broken chain to his legs, to prevent them from clanking, and impeding his future exertions. For nothing will ever convince me that it is not the man’s share in life to shield, to protect, to lead and toil and watch and battle with the world at large. He's an interpretative genius, if there ever was one. Then suddenly with a rush came reality, came “growing up”; a hasty imperative appeal for seriousness, for supreme seriousness. But a far greater affliction was in store for her. “And where,” he asked, “are my rivals?” “Deserters,” she answered, laughing. Ruth, without suspecting it, had fallen upon a fundamental truth: that each and every book fitted into the scheme of human moods and intelligence.
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