Six months had passed by, taking with them the keen edge of anxiety, but
leaving behind the dull, monotonous routine which is almost as hard to
bear. It is not enlivening, to be obliged to work instead of play, to
look ten times at a sixpence before you dare spend it, to consider what
you can do without, rather than what you can have, and to see no
prospect ahead but continual cheese-paring and self-denial; and when you
happen to be young and full of life, it is harder than ever.
With Dr Maclure's help, Mr Connor was able to continue his business,
and his City friends rallied round him, doing their best to put work in
his way; but, even so, there were pressing debts to be settled besides
the loan which one and all were anxious to repay, so that housekeeping
expenses had to be reduced to a minimum. It was decided that one of the
elder girls must stay at home, while the other tried for work abroad,
and it was at once a relief and a blow for Ruth when Mollie was chosen
as mother's help. She had dreaded the irksome duties of mending,
cooking, dusting, and everlasting putting to rights, which would have
fallen to her share, but it would have been a comfort to have been
chosen!
"Don't feel hurt, darling; it's a pure question of suitability," Mrs
Connor had explained anxiously. "Mollie is stronger than you are, and
has a more adaptable temperament. She won't feel the little jars as you
would, and will get on better with the maid. It is the art of a good
general to place his forces in the best position."
"Yes, of course, dear. It's quite--quite right! Arrange everything as
you think best," replied Ruth sweetly, kissing the little, wistful face
as she spoke; for Mrs Connor was still very fragile, and by Dr
Maclure's orders had to be spared all possible worry.
The same orders were extended to forbid Ruth from taking advantage of
Lady Margot's offer to procure work at a distance.
"Unless it proves absolutely impossible to find a suitable post here, I
don't think it would be wise to subject your mother to any further
anxiety. She would be constantly worrying about your welfare, and that
is the very thing we wish to avoid. Would it be a great disappointment
to you to give up going to London?" he inquired, with a quick, grave
look at Ruth's face.
"It would be a blessed relief. I'd a million times rather be at home;
but what can I find to do? I am ashamed to think how incompetent I am!
Here we are back again where we were three months ago, Dr Maclure, when
I worried you and Eleanor about a vocation!"
Ruth smiled, then flushed crimson at a sudden remembrance of how that
conversation had ended. She was immeasurably thankful to the doctor for
looking in an opposite direction and continuing to talk in the most
matter-of-fact manner.
"It occurred to me last night that I knew of a post which might suit you
for the next few months. The secretary of our Home for Nurses is on the
point of breaking down, and needs a good rest. The work needs no
special knowledge; it consists mainly in answering endless notes of
inquiries, and in keeping some very simple accounts. I could soon coach
you up in what is necessary. You would have to be there from ten to
six--not heavy hours, as things go. I think I could secure the post for
you for, say, the next three months, if you cared to accept it."
"And how much should I get?"
"Miss Edgar's salary is forty pounds; you would get a fourth of that--"
"Ten pounds!" Ruth stared at him with dilated eyes. "Ten pounds!
Every day from ten to six for three whole months, and only ten pounds!
Dr Maclure, do you know it is a real, true, honest fact that I paid
twenty pounds for a ball-dress only a few weeks ago? I've got it now in
a box upstairs!"
The doctor smiled.
"I should like to see you in it! I hope I may some day. It certainly
seems a good deal of money, but I suppose it is very fine, and will last
a long time."
"But it won't! It's a mere wisp of gauze, that will only be fit to burn
after being worn two or three times. And I should have to work for six
months to earn enough to pay for it! How shocking! What a terrible
difference there is between the lives of the rich and the poor!"
"Ah, there you have touched on a great problem! After you have had some
experience of being a working woman, you may not care to buy any more
twenty-pound dresses, even if the opportunity offers. I know that the
payment is small, but I am afraid you would find it difficult to get
more without any special knowledge or training. It is hard for you,
especially coming so soon after your taste of luxury; but if you can
face it--"
"Oh yes, indeed! I'll take it, and be thankful; and perhaps, if I do
very well and keep the books nicely, I may be worth fifty pounds next
time!" said Ruth, with a charming courage, which might well have aroused
any man's admiration.
Dr Maclure made no remark, and turned his head aside. He had a habit
nowadays of looking at other things when he was speaking to Ruth. So it
happened that while Mollie worked at home, Ruth went forth every day to
her monotonous task, trudging along the same well-known path, in sun and
rain, heat and cold--for the secretary's leave of absence had to be
prolonged--until Christmas was close at hand, and the ten pounds' salary
had doubled in value.
"I shall be able to buy myself a new mackintosh and a pair of good stout
boots," Ruth said to herself, as she trudged home one dismal December
evening, and felt a suspicious dampness in the soles of her tired little
feet.
She had no idea what a charming figure she made in her long, dark coat,
with her hair curling in wet rings about her face; for she carried no
umbrella, as her cloth toque defied the weather, and she preferred to
keep her hands free to hold her skirts from contact with the muddy
roads. The pink-and-white face, with its delicately cut features, and
straight black brows, shone out like a flower among the tired,
colourless-looking throng of workers who wended their way homeward; and
her expression was bright and alert, despite the dismal surroundings.
Ruth was surprised at her own happiness of late. Her work was dull and
monotonous, and she had few pleasures to relieve it; yet, for some
mysterious reason, she was more truly content at heart than in those
days of ease and luxury, which seemed like a dream of the past. Six
months had passed since that memorable day when she and Mollie had
bidden adieu to the Court; and Uncle Bernard still lived, and was
apparently in the same condition.
Mrs Thornton kept her friends well informed of the news of the
neighbourhood, so that they knew that, though Victor Druce had
ostensibly returned to town at the expiration of his three months'
visit, he was constantly running down and bringing friends with him for
a few days' shooting, with the privilege of a son of the house. For the
rest, Margot Blount had returned to town, and Jack Melland's
communications were limited to an occasional picture-postcard bearing
half a dozen words of greeting. Mollie made no comment on the briefness
of these missives, and was always cheery and busy, but sometimes on her
return from her day's work Ruth would look at her anxiously, and wonder
if it were only imagination that Mollie looked different, thinner and
older--a woman rather than a girl. Perhaps after all she had the harder
path--shut up in the house, without the daily variety of seeing fresh
rooms and fresh faces. The regular constitutional, too, was in itself
health-giving, and though Ruth received much pity at home on the score
of her long, wet walks, it was astonishing what pleasant surprises
loomed out of the fog at times. She smiled to herself, and a dimple
dipped in her cheek.
The good old fairy days were not yet over, when a tired Cinderella,
trudging through the mire, was suddenly provided with a comfortable
carriage, springing as it were out of the earth to carry her to her
destination. It was extraordinary how often Dr Maclure's brougham
"happened" to be travelling in the same direction as herself on wet
evenings; and although the doctor himself was conspicuous by his
absence, the coachman was wonderfully quick to recognise one figure out
of many, and to draw up with a "Just driving past your house, miss. Can
I give you a lift?"
Ruth had no doubt that it was the master, not the man, who was
responsible for these meetings, and the conviction brought with it a
glow of content, of which as yet she failed to realise the meaning.
Nevertheless, her heart beat with a pleasurable excitement as she
threaded her way through the crowded streets, wondering if once again
the fairy equipage would be sent to the rescue, if it would appear at
this corner or the next. At last, through the driving sleet, she
recognised the familiar outline of the brougham drawn up beside the
pavement, but for once the coachman sat stiffly on his box, while the
master stepped forward to meet her.
"Miss Ruth, it is a shocking evening! I have a call to pay in this
neighbourhood. Do let George drive you home before you are wet
through."
Ruth stood still and looked at him. The drops of moisture were thick
upon hat and coat, her soft cheeks were damp with rain, but her eyes
danced with a spice of mischief which was more like Mollie than the
grave, elder sister of the family.
"I'll drive with pleasure on one condition--that you will first allow
yourself to be taken to your patient's house," she replied demurely,
adding when the doctor hesitated in embarrassment: "It is such a very
odd neighbourhood for a patient to live in, in the midst of these great
blocks of offices! I think we may perhaps have to drive you a long,
long way."
For a moment Dr Maclure did not reply; he merely held open the door of
the carriage, waiting until Ruth should have taken her seat; then he
leant towards her, the light from the lamps showing the nervous tremor
of his lips.
"I will come in too, on one condition--that you are willing to drive
beside me all the way, Ruth!"
What did he mean? Ruth started and flushed, for the tone of voice was
even more eloquent than the words themselves. The moment which she had
vaguely expected, dreaded, and hoped for, had come suddenly upon her,
provoked by her own jesting words. She did not know what to say, or how
to say it, only one definite thought stood out distinctly in the
confusion of her mind, namely, that Dr Maclure was standing unprotected
in the damp and cold. She held out her hand towards him, and cried
tremulously--
"Don't stand out in the rain! Oh, please come in! We will go where you
like?"
Dr Maclure leapt lightly to his seat, and the coachman whipped up his
horses without waiting for instructions. A coachman is only an ordinary
man after all, and George had seen how the wind blew for many a long
day. He took care not to drive too quickly, nor to choose the shortest
routes, satisfied that for once his master was not in a hurry.
Inside the brougham Dr Maclure held Ruth's shabbily gloved little hand
in his, and asked earnestly--
"Can you give me a different answer this time, Ruth? It has been a
weary waiting, and I seem to have grown worse instead of better. I fear
it is an incurable complaint! Can you give me a glimmer of hope, dear,
or is it still quite impossible?"
Ruth shook her head and nodded and smiled, and sighed, and shed a few
bright tears, in a whirl of delightful confusion.
"It's--it's not impossible at all! I think I am quite sure. I have
been growing surer and surer all this time. But am I good enough? You
remember that six months ago I fancied myself in love with someone
else?"
"I can afford to forget that episode, and even to be thankful for it, if
it has shown you your own mind, so that now you are `quite sure'! Oh,
Ruth, it is too good to be true! Can you really be happy with a dull,
old fellow like me? No country seat, you know; no life of ease and
luxury, just a comfortable, commonplace house, with a husband who is too
hard-worked to have much time for play. I have no fortune to offer you,
dear, except love--there's no end to that wealth!"
Ruth turned her beautiful eyes upon him with a smile of perfect content.
"But that's everything!" she cried. "I shall be the richest woman in
the world!"