"Don't go, I beg of you!" she implored. As she started, rearing up her head, a hand stole about her mouth and closed down hard. He drew a chair to the side of the bed and sat down, terrified by the utter fallowness of his mind. Her expression was a little changed, less innocent, more discerning. The worthy carpenter was restored to instant good humour by a glance from his helpmate; and, notwithstanding the infliction he had just endured, he would have quarrelled with any one who had endeavoured to persuade him that he was not the happiest of men, and Mrs. Wood went on fuming, and the trio went on laughing for some minutes, nobody knew why or wherefore, until the party was increased by Mr. Barleycorn had sent to the mat for the count of nine: unless the young fool's daddy had a bundle of coin. The struggle had dislodged the white wimple, which was evidently too large for her, and her black hair broke free, whirling like a whiplash about her head as her hands curled into fists, coming up to beat at his chest, her little teeth bared for attack. And why, after all, should she not borrow money from Ramage? It was so true what he said; middle-class people WERE ridiculously squeamish about money. This, Wood, acting upon Terry's caution, was most unwilling to do; but, finding he had no alternative, he reluctantly made known his errand and the bolts were undrawn.
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