She chuckled. And she would have rushed to him, if she had not been forcibly withheld by her son. He was a wonderful little creature with a perfect tiny face, mottled pink cheeks, and eyes brighter than May. "Well, Joan," said the benevolent mechanic, after he had looked at her steadfastly for a few moments, "what say you?—silence gives consent, eh?" Mrs. Ruth could tell the doctor; she could bare many of her innermost thoughts to that kindly man; but there was an inexplicable reserve before this young man whom she still endued with the melancholy charm of Sydney Carton. Conscientious objectors to that process are not permitted, she found, in Canongate.
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