"Sir Charles!"
"Miss Deyncourt!"
"I fear," with a glance at the yellow-back in his hand, "I am
interrupting a studious hour, but--"
"Not in the least, I assure you," said Charles, shutting his novel.
"What is regarded as study by the feminine intellect is to the masculine
merely relaxation. I was 'unbending over a book,' that was all."
The process of "unbending" was being performed in the summer-house,
whither he had retired after Evelyn and Ralph had started on their
afternoon's ride to Vandon, in which he had refused to join.
"I thought I should find you here," continued Ruth, frankly. "I have
been wishing to speak to you for several days, but you are as a rule so
surrounded and encompassed on every side by Molly that I have not had an
opportunity."
It had occurred to Charles once or twice during the last few days that
Molly was occasionally rather in the way. Now he was sure of it. As Ruth
appeared to hesitate, he pulled forward a rustic contorted chair for
her.
"No, thanks," she said. "I shall not long interrupt the unbending
process. I only came to ask--"
"To ask!" repeated Charles, who had got up as she was standing, and came
and stood near her.
"You remember the first evening you were here?"
"I do."
"And what we spoke of at dinner?"
"Perfectly."
"I came to ask you how much you lent Raymond?" Ruth's clear, earnest
eyes were fixed full upon him.
At this moment Charles perceived Lady Mary at a little distance,
propelling herself gently over the grass in the direction of the
summer-house. In another second she had perceived Charles and Ruth, and
had turned precipitately, and hobbled away round the corner with
surprising agility.
"Confound her!" inwardly ejaculated Charles.
"I wish to know how much you lent him," said Ruth again, as he did not
answer, happily unconscious of what had been going on behind her back.
"Only what I was well able to afford."
"And has he paid it back since?"
"I am sure he understood I should not expect him to pay it back at
once."
"But he has had it three years."
Charles did not answer.
"I feel sure he is not able to pay it. Will you kindly tell me how much
it was?"
"No, Miss Deyncourt; I think not."
"Why not?"
"Because--excuse me, but I perceive that if I do you will instantly wish
to pay it."
"I do wish to pay it."
"I thought so."
There was a short silence.
"I still wish it," said Ruth at last.
Charles was silent. Her pertinacity annoyed and yet piqued him. Being
unmarried, he was not accustomed to opposition from a woman. He had no
intention of allowing her to pay her brother's debt, and he wished she
would drop the subject gracefully, now that he had made that fact
evident.
"Perhaps you don't know," continued Ruth, "that I am very well off." (As
if he did not know it! As if Lady Mary had not casually mentioned Ruth's
fortune several times in his hearing!) "Lady Deyncourt left me twelve
hundred a year, and I have a little of my own besides. You may not be
aware that I have fourteen hundred and sixty-two pounds per annum."
"I am very glad to hear it."
"That is a large sum, you will observe."
"It is riches," assented Charles, "if your expenditure happens to be
less."
"It does happen to be considerably less in my case."
"You are to be congratulated. And yet I have always understood that
society exacts great sacrifices from women in the sums they feel obliged
to devote to dress."
"Dress is an interesting subject, and I should be delighted to hear your
views on it another time; but we are talking of something else just at
this moment."
"I beg your pardon," said Charles, quickly, who did not quite like being
brought back to the case in point. "I--the truth was, I wished to turn
your mind from what we were speaking of. I don't want you to count
sovereigns into my hand. I really should dislike it very much."
"You intend me to think from that remark that it was a small sum," said
Ruth, with unexpected shrewdness. "I now feel sure it was a large one.
It ought to be paid, and there is no one to do it but me. I know that
what is firmness in a man is obstinacy in a woman, so do not on your
side be too firm, or, who knows? you may arouse some of that obstinacy
in me to which I should like to think myself superior."
"If," said Charles, with sudden eagerness, as if an idea had just struck
him, "if I let you pay me this debt, will you on your side allow me to
make a condition?"
"I should like to know the condition first."
"Of course. If I agree,"--Charles's light gray eyes had become keen and
intent--"if I agree to receive payment of what I lent Deyncourt three
years ago, will you promise not to pay any other debt of his, or ever to
lend him money without the knowledge and approval of your relations?"
Ruth considered for a few minutes.
"I have so few relations," she said at length, with rather a sad smile,
"and they are all prejudiced against poor Raymond. I think I am the only
friend he has left in the world. I am afraid I could not promise that."
"Well," said Charles, eagerly, "I won't insist on relations. I know
enough of those thorns in the flesh myself. I will say instead, 'natural
advisers.' Come, Miss Deyncourt, you can't accuse me of firmness now!"
"My natural advisers," repeated Ruth, slowly. "I feel as if I ought to
have natural advisers somewhere; but who are they? Where are they? I
could not ask my sister or her husband for advice. I mean, I could not
take it if I did. I should think I knew better myself. Uncle John?
Evelyn? Lord Polesworth? Sir Charles, I am afraid the truth is I have
never asked for advice in my life. I have always tried to do what seemed
best, without troubling to know what other people thought about it. But
as I am anxious to yield gracefully, will you substitute the word
'friends' for 'natural advisers'? I hope and think I have friends whom I
could trust."
"Friends, then, let it be," said Charles. "Now," holding out his hand,
"do you promise never, et cetera, et cetera, without first consulting
your _friends_?"
Ruth put her hand into his.
"I do."
"That is right. How amiable we are both becoming! I suppose I must now
inform you that two hundred pounds is the exact sum I lent your
brother."
Ruth went back to the house, and in a few minutes returned with a check
in her hand. She held it towards Charles, who took it, and put it in his
pocket-book.
"Thank you," she said, with gratitude in her eyes and voice.
"We have had a pitched battle," said Charles, relapsing into his old
indifferent manner. "Neither of us has been actually defeated, for we
never called out our reserves, which I felt would have been hardly fair
on you; but we do not come forth with flying colors. I fear, from your
air of elation, you actually believe you have been victorious."
"I agree with you that there has been no defeat," replied Ruth; "but I
won't keep you any longer from your studies. I am just going out driving
with Lady Mary to have tea with the Thursbys."
"Miss Deyncourt, don't allow a natural and most pardonable vanity to
delude you to such an extent. Don't go out driving the victim of a false
impression. If you will consider one moment--"
"Not another moment," replied Ruth; "our bugles have sung truce, and I
am not going to put on my war-paint again for any consideration. There
comes the carriage," as a distant rumbling was heard. "I must not keep
Lady Mary waiting;" and she was gone.
Charles heard the carriage roll away again, and when half an hour later
he sauntered back towards the house, he was surprised to see Lady Mary
sitting in the drawing-room window.
"What! Not gone, after all!" he exclaimed, in a voice in which surprise
was more predominant than pleasure.
"No, Charles," returned Lady Mary in her measured tones, looking slowly
up at him over her gold-rimmed spectacles. "I felt a slight return of my
old enemy, and Miss Deyncourt kindly undertook to make my excuses to
Mrs. Thursby."
No one knew what the old enemy was, or in what manner his mysterious
assaults on Lady Mary were conducted; but it was an understood thing
that she had private dealings with him, in which he could make himself
very disagreeable.
"Has Molly gone with her?"
"No; Molly is making jam in the kitchen, I believe. Miss Deyncourt most
good-naturedly offered to take her with her; but,"--with a shake of the
head--"the poor child's totally unrestrained appetites and lamentable
self-will made her prefer to remain where she was."
"I am afraid," said Charles, meditatively, as if the idea were entirely
a novel one, "Molly is getting a little spoiled among us. It is natural
in you, of course; but there is no excuse for me. There never is. There
are, I confess, moments when I don't regard the child's immortal welfare
sufficiently to make her present existence less enjoyable. What a round
of gayety Molly's life is! She flits from flower to flower, so to speak;
from me to cook and the jam-pots; from the jam-pots to some fresh
delight in the loft, or in your society. Life is one long feast to
Molly. Whatever that old impostor the Future may have in store for her,
at any rate she is having a good time now."
There was a shade of regretful sadness in Charles's voice that ruffled
his aunt.
"The child is being ruined," she said, with resigned bitterness.
"Not a bit of it. I was spoiled as a child, and look at me!"
"You _are_ spoiled. I don't spoil you; but other people do. Society
does. And the result is that you are so hard to please that I don't
believe you will ever marry. You look for a perfection in others which
is not to be found in yourself."
"I don't fancy I should appear to advantage side by side with
perfection," said Charles, in his most careless manner; and he rose, and
wandered away into the garden.
He was irritated with Lady Mary, with her pleased looks during the last
few days, with her annoying celerity that afternoon in the garden. It
was all the more annoying because he was conscious that Ruth amused
and interested him in no slight degree. She had the rare quality
of being genuine. She stood for what she was, without effort or
self-consciousness. Whether playful or serious, she was always real.
Beneath a reserved and rather quiet manner there lurked a piquant
unconventionality. The mixture of earnestness and humor, which were so
closely interwoven in her nature that he could never tell which would
come uppermost, had a strange attraction for him. He had grown
accustomed to watch for and try to provoke the sudden gleam of fun in
the serious eyes, which always preceded a retort given with an air of
the sweetest feminine meekness, which would make Ralph rub himself all
over with glee, and tell Charles, chuckling, he "would not get much
change out of Ruth."
If only she had not been asked to Atherstone on purpose to meet him. If
only Lady Mary had not arranged it; if only Evelyn did not know it; if
only Ralph had not guessed it; if only he himself had not seen it from
the first instant! Ruth and Molly were the only two unconscious persons
in the house.
"I wonder," said Charles to himself, "why people can't allow me to
manage my own affairs? Oh, what a world it is for unmarried men with
money! Why did I not marry fifteen years ago, when every woman with a
straight nose was an angel of light; when I felt a noble disregard for
such minor details as character, mind, sympathy, if the hair and the
eyes were the right shade? Why did I not marry when I was out of favor
with my father, when I was head over ears in debt, and when at least I
could feel sure no one would marry me for my money? Molly," as that
young lady came running towards him with lingering traces of jam upon
her flushed countenance, "you have arrived just in time. Uncle Charles
was getting so dull without you. What have you been after all this
time?"
"Cook and me have made thirty-one pots and a little one," said Molly,
inserting a very sticky hand into Charles's. "And your Mr. Brown helped.
Cook told him to go along at first, which wasn't kind, was it? but he
stayed all the same; and I skimmed with a big spoon, and she poured it
in the pots. Only they aren't covered up with paper yet, if you want to
see them. And oh! Uncle Charles, what _do_ you think? Father and mother
have come back from their ride, and that nice funny man who was at the
school-feast is coming here to-morrow, and I shall show him my
guinea-pigs. He said he wanted to see them very much."
"Oh, he did, did he? When was that?"
"At the school-feast. Oh!" with enthusiasm, "he was so nice, Uncle
Charles, so attentive, and getting things when you want them; and the
wheel went over his foot when he was shaking hands, and he did not mind
a bit; and he filled our teapots for us--Ruth's big one, you know, that
holds such a lot."
"Oh! He filled the big teapot, did he?"
"Yes, and mine too; and then he helped us to unpack the dolls. He was so
kind to me and Cousin Ruth."
"Kind to Miss Deyncourt, was he?"
"Yes; and when we went away he ran and opened the gate for us. Oh, there
comes Cousin Ruth back again in the carriage. I'll run and tell her he's
coming. She _will_ be glad."
"Aunt Mary is right," said Charles, watching his niece disappear. "Molly
has formed a habit of expressing herself with unnecessary freedom.
Decidedly she is a little spoiled."