“To tell you the truth,” said Mrs. Harry,
pretending to study the jump, “I looked at you
because I could not help it. You are an extraordinarily
beautiful woman.”
“Thank you,” answered Ruth. “But
about ‘Captain Harry,’ as we call him?
I suppose he, as next of kin, is most concerned of
all?”
“He did not tell me about you, if that is what
you mean; or rather he told me nothing until I questioned
him. Then he owned that there was such a person,
and that he had seen you. But he does not even
know of this visit; he imagines that Lady Caroline
is taking me for a pleasure trip, just to view the
country.”
Ruth turned towards the house. “You will
tell him, of course,” she said gravely, “when
you return to the ship.”
“I—I suppose I shall,” confessed
Mrs. Harry, and added, “There’s one thing.
You may suppose that, as his wife, I am as much concerned
as any—perhaps more than these others.
But I don’t want you to think that I suggested
hunting you up.”
“I do not think anything of the sort.
In fact I am sure you did not.”
“Thank you.”
Ruth had a mind to ask “Who, then, had brought
them?” but refrained. She had guessed,
and pretty surely.
“Well,” she said with half a laugh, “you
have been good and given me time to recover.
It’s heavy odds, you see, and—and
I have not been trained for it, exactly. But
I feel better. Shall we go back and face them?”
“One moment, again!” Mrs. Harry’s
kindly face hung out signals of distress. “It’s
heavy odds, as you say. Everything’s against
you. But the Lord knows I’m a well-meaning
woman, and I’d hate to be unjust. If only
I could be sure—if only you would tell me—”
Ruth stood still and faced her.
“Look in my eyes.”
Mrs. Harry looked and was convinced. “But
you love him,” she murmured; “and he—”
“Ah, ma’am,” said Ruth, “I
answer you one question, and you would ask me another!”
LADY CAROLINE.
She walked back to the verandah.
“I understand,” she said, “that
Lady Caroline wishes a word with me.”
With a slight bow she led the way through a low window
that opened upon the Corderys’ best parlour,
through that apartment, and across a passage to the
door of a smaller room lined with shelves—formerly
a stillroom or store-chamber for home-made wines,
cordials, preserves, but now converted into a boudoir
for her use. Its one window looked out upon
the farmyard, now in shadow, and a farther doorway
led to the dairy. It stood open, and beyond it
the eye travelled down a vista of cool slate flags
and polished cream-pans.
On the threshold Ruth stood aside to let Lady Caroline
enter; followed, and closed the door; stepped across
and closed the door of the dairy. Lady Caroline
meanwhile found a seat, and, lifting her eyeglass,
studied at long range the library disposed upon the
store shelves.
