’ ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Miss Froxfield frostily. Cosette sat under the table, still as a mouse, fondling her pitiful doll. "You are all right?"—anxiously. What a girl of sixteen cares for is hair and a high color and moonlight and a tenor voice. Enschede, to have starved his heart as well as Ruth's because, having laid a curse, he knew not how to turn aside from it! How easily he might have forgotten the unworthy mother in the love of the child! And this day to hear her voice lifted in a quality of anathema. "Your enemy!" she returned imperfectly comprehending him.
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