A light wind faintly ruffled the landlocked water when the Cetacea crept up to her anchorage off a small lumber port on the eastern coast of Vancouver Island. A great boom of logs was moored near the wharf, and stacks of freshly cut lumber and ugly sawdust heaps rose along the beach. Behind these were tall iron chimney-stacks, clusters of wooden houses, and rows of fire-blackened stumps; then steep, pine-clad hillsides shut the hollow in. Though there were one or two steamers at anchor, and signs of activity in the streets, the place had a raw, unfinished look; but theCetacea’s crew were glad to reach it. Cramped by their narrow quarters on board, it was a relief to roam at large; and the resinous smell that hung about the port was pleasant after the stinging saltness of the spray.

But they had come there on business, and Bethune presently stopped a man they met.

“Which is the best and biggest general store in the town?” he asked.

“Jefferson’s; three blocks farther on. He’s been here since the mills were started.”

“Is it necessary to go to the best store?” Jimmy inquired as they went on.

Bethune laughed.

“Oh, no! Now that we’ve found out which it is, we can try somewhere else. I’ve a suspicion that our business won’t have much attraction for a prosperous dealer who can choose his customers. It’s the struggling man who’s readiest to take a risk.”

“We’ll leave it to you,” Jimmy said confidently. Bethune had arranged their commercial transactions with tact and shrewdness, and they had discovered that it was far from easy to obtain supplies without paying cash for them.

After strolling through the town, they entered a small, wooden store, which had an inscription, “T. Jaques: Shipping Supplied,” and found its proprietor leaning idly on the counter. He was a young man with an alert manner, but, although he was smartly dressed, Bethune, studying him, imagined that he had not yet achieved prosperity. Indeed, he thought he saw signs of care in the man’s keen face.

Taking out his notebook, he enumerated the supplies they wanted, and examined samples. The provisions were good; the store was neatly kept and fairly well stocked; but Jimmy, leaning on the counter and looking about, thought the goods had been arranged with some skill to make the biggest show possible, which implied that the dealer had not much of a reserve. Then, while the man talked to Bethune, Jimmy noticed a woman approach the glass door at the back and stop a moment as if she were interested in the proceedings. All this suggested that his comrade had offered their custom at the right place. The provisions would not be a large item, but they needed ropes, chain, and marine supplies, which would cost a good deal more.

“I can send the small stores off whenever you want, but I can’t give you the other truck until the Vancouver boat comes in, and that won’t be for four days,” Jaques said. He looked rather eager as he added: “I guess you can wait?”

“Oh, yes. I expect it will be a week before we get off.”

“Then, I’ll wire the order. You’ll pay on delivery?”

“That,” answered Bethune, smiling, “is a point we must talk about. I think I could give you ten dollars down.”

The dealer’s face fell and he looked thoughtful.

“Well,” he said slowly, “I’d certainly like this order. What’s your proposition?”

“I don’t know that I have one ready. Perhaps I’d better tell you how we stand and leave you to suggest a way out of the difficulty.”

“Come into the back store and take a smoke,” invited Jaques; and they followed him into an apartment which seemed to serve as warehouse, general living room, and kitchen. A young woman was busy at the stove, and after looking up with a smile of welcome she went on with her cooking; but Jimmy felt that she had given him and his comrades a keen scrutiny.

Jaques brought them chairs and laid a few cigars on the table.

“Now,” he said to Bethune, “you can go ahead.”

“First of all, I want your promise to keep what I tell you to yourself.” Bethune glanced quietly toward the woman.

“You have it, and you can trust Mrs. Jaques. Susie does all her talking at home; and there’s a good deal of her own money in this store. That’s why I brought you in. I allow she’s sometimes a better judge than I am.”

Bethune bowed to Mrs. Jaques; and then, to Jimmy’s surprise, he began a frank account of their financial difficulties and their salvage plans. When it came to their doings at the wreck, he made a rather moving tale of it, and Mrs. Jaques listened with her eyes fixed on the speaker and a greasy fork poised in her hand. Jimmy wondered whether Bethune was acting quite judiciously in telling so much. The storekeeper leaned an elbow on the table, his brows knitted as if in thought; and Moran sat still with an expressionless brown face. Except for Bethune’s voice it was very quiet in the small, rudely furnished room, and Jimmy surmised that the projected deal was of some importance to its occupants. It was certainly of consequence to his own party, for they could not continue operations without supplies.

“There’s a bond on your boat already,” Jaques objected, when Bethune paused.

“For about half her value. We could demand a public sale if she were seized, and the balance would clear your debt.”

“It’s hard to get full price for a vessel that’s too small for a regular trade. You allowed you bought her cheap?”

“We did,” Bethune carelessly answered. “Still, one has to take a risk.”

They were interrupted by a knocking, and Jaques went into the store and did not return for some minutes.

“Nolan, the river-jack,” he explained, as he came in. “Wanted gum-boots, and I thought I’d better let him have them; though he hasn’t paid for the last pair yet.”

“That,” Bethune smiled, “bears out my argument.”

Jaques looked at his wife, and she made a sign of assent, as if she understood him.

“Supper’s nearly ready, and you had better stay,” he said. “It’s plain fare, but you won’t find better biscuits and waffles than Susie’s in the province. Besides, it will give us time to think the thing over.”

They were glad to accept the invitation, and no more was said about business while they enjoyed the well cooked and daintily served meal. Jimmy was conscious of a growing admiration for his neat-handed hostess, with her bright, intelligent face, and her pretty but simple dress, and he tried to second Bethune in his amusing chatter. Jaques did not say much, but he looked pleased. As for Moran, he steadily worked his way through the good things set before him. His one remark was: “If we strike grub like this, ma’am, we’ll want to stop right in your town.”

“Then my husband will lose his order,” Mrs. Jaques replied, and though she laughed, Jimmy thought her answer had some significance.

When she cleared the table Jaques lighted a cigar and smiled rather grimly when Jimmy inquired if trade was good.

“Well,” he said, “it might be better – that’s one reason why I’d like to make a deal with you. There’s less money in keeping store than you might suppose. I’ve been two years in this town, and my customers are mostly of the kind the beginner gets – those who can’t pay up in time, and those who don’t mean to pay at all. The ones worth having go to the other man.”

“Where were you before?” Jimmy asked.

“In Toronto. But the wages I was making in a department store were not enough to marry on. With a few dollars Susie had left her and with what I’d saved we thought we might make a start; but there’s not much room for the small man now in the eastern cities, and we came out West. It’s a pull all along; but we’d make some progress if the blame bush settlers would pay their bills.”

Jimmy felt sympathetic. The man did not look as if he found the struggle easy.

“Have you got your business fixed?” Mrs. Jaques asked, coming in from an adjoining room.

“Not yet,” Bethune answered. “I’ve a suspicion that your husband was waiting for you; and I couldn’t object, because I ventured to believe you would say a word in our favor.”

Mrs. Jaques studied him keenly. He was a handsome man, with graceful manners, and she thought him honest; and it was difficult to associate duplicity with Jimmy’s open face.

“Well,” she promised, “I’ll go as far as I can.”

“Then we’ll get down to business.” Jaques turned to his guests. “You feel pretty sure you’ll find the gold when you get back?”

“No,” said Jimmy frankly. “We hope so; but we can’t even be sure we’ll find the wreck. The gale may have broken her up and buried her in the sand.”

“Then, if your plan falls through, I won’t get paid.”

“That’s taking too much for granted. There’ll be something left over if we have to sell the boat, and we’re able to earn more than our keep on the wharf or in the mills. Your debt would have the first claim on us.”

“It would take you a long time to wipe it off on what you’d save out of two dollars a day.”

“Very true,” Bethune admitted. “To clear the ground, I suppose you believe we’d try?”

“We’ll take it that you mean to deal straight with me. Anyway, you believe you have a pretty good chance of getting at the gold?”

“I think it’s a fair business risk. In proof of this, we’re going back to do our best if you will give us the supplies we want. We wouldn’t be willing to incur the liability unless we had some hope of success.”

“Very well; you don’t suggest my letting you have the truck and taking a partner’s share on the strength of it?”

“No,” Bethune answered decidedly; “not unless you press the point.”

Mrs. Jaques nodded as if she had approved of the question and found the answer reassuring. It implied that the adventurers thought the scheme good enough to keep to themselves.

“I’d rather my husband stuck to his regular line,” she said.

“Then,” said Bethune, “this is my proposition: Give us the goods, and charge us ten per cent. interest until they’re paid for. You’ll get it as well as the principal, sooner or later.”

Jaques looked at his wife; and she made a sign of assent.

“Well, it’s a deal!”

A half-hour later, when they rose to go, Jimmy turned to his hostess.

“While your husband has treated us fairly,” he said, “we have to thank you, and that makes it a point of honor to show you were not mistaken.”

He noticed now that there were wrinkles which suggested anxious thought already forming about her eyes, and that her hands were work-hardened; but she smiled at him.

“One learns in keeping store that a customer’s character is quite as important as his bank account.”

“That’s the nicest thing I’ve had said about me since I came to British Columbia!” Bethune declared gaily.

Mrs. Jaques smiled.

“If you find the evenings dull before you sail, come in and talk to us,” she said.

When they went outside, Bethune made a confession.

“I felt strongly tempted to take our custom somewhere else. They’re nice people, and it looks as if they found it hard enough to get along.”

“Whatever happens, they must be paid,” Jimmy declared.

“Yes,” agreed Moran, who seldom expressed his opinion except on nautical matters; “that’s a sure thing!”

“How would it do to ask them to a picnic on one of the islands?” Bethune suggested. “It would be an afternoon’s outing, and it’s generally smooth water here. I shouldn’t imagine Mrs. Jaques gets many holidays.”

The others thought it a good idea; and when the sloop was refitted and ready for sea, Bethune put his suggestion into practice. His guests were pleased to come, and with a moderate breeze rippling the blue water, they ran up the straits in brilliant sunshine. Jimmy laid a cushion for Mrs. Jaques near the wheel, and her rather pale face lighted up when he asked if she would steer. He saw that she knew how by the way she held the spokes.

“This is delightful!” she exclaimed, as they sped on swiftly. “I used to go sailing now and then at Toronto, but all the time we have lived here I’ve never been on the water.”

She glanced in a half-wistful manner at the sparkling sea. A gentle surf made a snowy fringe along the shingle beach, and beyond that dark pinewoods rolled back among the rocks toward blue, distant peaks. Overhead, the tall, white topsail swayed with a measured swing across the cloudless sky. Silky threads of ripples streamed back from the bows, and along theCetacea’s side there was a drowsy gurgle and lapping of water.

“You’re to be envied when you sail away,” Mrs. Jaques said, with something that was almost a sigh. “Still, it isn’t all sunshine and smooth water in the North.”

“By no means,” Jimmy assured her. “I can think of a number of occasions when I’d gladly have exchanged the sloop for your back room, or, for that matter, for a yard or two of dry ground.”

“One can imagine it,” she laughed. “Well, you have to face the gale and fog, while we try not to be beaten by Jefferson and to meet our bills. I don’t know which is the harder.”

Jimmy felt compassionate. She was young, but she had a careworn look, and he surmised that she found life difficult in the primitive wooden town. It seemed to be all work and anxious planning with her; there was something pathetic in the keen pleasure she took in her rare holiday.

Late in the afternoon they dropped anchor in a rock-walled cove with a beach of white shingle on which sparkling wavelets broke. Dark firs climbed the rugged heights above, and their scent drifted off across the clear, green water. Bethune, who had been busy cooking, brought up an unusually elaborate meal and laid it out on the cabin top with the best glass and crockery he had been able to borrow. His expression, however, was anxious as he served the first course to his guests.

“I’ve done my best. I used to think I wasn’t a bad cook; but after the supper Mrs. Jaques gave us, I’m much less confident,” he said. “It’s easier to get proud of yourself when you have nothing to compare your work with, and your critics are indulgent. Jimmy’s been very forbearing; and it’s my opinion that Moran would eat anything that’s fit for human food.”

“I’ve had to,” Moran retorted. “Anyway, I’ve seen you set up worse hash than this.”

There were no complaints, and the appetite every one showed was flattering. They jested and talked with great good humor; until at last Moran indicated the lengthening shadow of the mast which had moved across the deck.

“It’s mighty curious, but we’ve been an hour over supper, and there’s something left. Guess I never spent more’n about ten minutes at my grub before.”

Bethune took a bottle from a pail of ice in a locker and filled the borrowed glasses.

“To our happy next meeting!” he proposed. “Our guests, who have made the trip possible, will not be forgotten while we are away.”

The glasses were drained and filled again, and Mrs. Jaques turned to her hosts with a cordial smile.

“May you win the success you deserve!” she responded; and a few minutes afterward Bethune, beckoning Moran, went forward to raise the anchor.

The light was fading when they hove the Cetacea to near the wharf and a boat came off. With many good wishes Jaques and his wife went ashore, and the sloop stood away for the lonely North.

CHAPTER VIII – PUZZLING QUESTIONS

Hot sunshine poured into the clearing on the shore of Puget Sound where Henry Osborne had his dwelling. The pretty, wooden house, with its wide veranda and scrollwork decoration, was finely situated in a belt of tall pine forest. The resinous scent of the conifers crept into its rooms; and in front a broad sweep of grass, checkered with glowing flower-beds, ran down to the shingle beach. Rocky islets, crested with somber firs, dotted the sparkling sound, and beyond them, climbing woods and hills, steeped in varying shades of blue, faded into the distance, with behind them all a faint, cold gleam of snow. The stillness of the afternoon was emphasized by the soft splash of ripples on the beach and the patter of the water which the automatic sprinklers flung in glistening showers across the thirsty grass.

Caroline Dexter, lately arrived from a small New England town, sat in the shade of a cedar. She was elderly and of austere character. The plain and badly cut gray dress displayed the gauntness of her form, and her face was of homely type; but her glance was direct, and those who knew her best had learned that her censorious harshness covered a warm heart. Now she was surveying her brother-in-law’s house and garden with a disapproving expression. All she saw indicated prosperity and taste, and though she admitted that riches were not necessarily a snare, she hoped Henry Osborne had come by them honestly.

She had never been quite sure about him, and it was not with her goodwill that he had married her younger sister. She thought him lax and worldly; but after his wife’s death, which was a heavy blow to Caroline, she had taken his child into her keeping and tenderly cared for her. Indeed, she ventured to believe that she had molded Ruth Osborne’s character and won her affection. The girl might have fallen into worse hands, for, in spite of her narrow outlook, Caroline Dexter was unflinchingly upright.

Sitting stiffly erect in the garden chair, she turned to her niece, who reclined with negligent grace in a canvas lounge. This, Caroline thought, was typical of the luxurious indolence of the younger generation, but, for all that, Ruth had some of the sterner virtues. The girl was pretty, and though her aunt believed that beauty is a deceptive thing, it was less dangerous when purged of pride and vanity. Caroline hoped that the strictness with which she had brought up her niece had freed her of these failings.

“Well, dear,” she said, “this is a pretty place; and your father’s affairs have evidently improved. It’s sad your dear mother didn’t live to enjoy it.”

Though her dress and appearance were provincial, the austere simplicity of her manner had in it something of distinction, and her accent was singularly clean.

Ruth looked up at her with an air of thoughtful regret.

“Yes; I often feel that, when I think of the hard struggle she must have had. Though I was very young then, I can remember the shabby boardinghouses we stayed in, and my mother’s pale, anxious face when she and my father used to talk in the evenings. He seldom speaks about those days, but I know he does not forget.”

“It is to his credit that he never married again,” Miss Dexter remarked with a bluntness in which there was nothing coarse. “He loved your mother, and one can forgive him much for that.”

“But have you much to forgive? And, after all, men do sometimes marry twice.”

“And sometimes oftener! No doubt they’re good enough for the women who take them; but the love of a true man or woman is stronger than death!”

There was a warmth in the voice of this apparently unsentimental aunt that surprised Ruth.

“You seem to speak with feeling,” the girl said, half mockingly.

A shadow crept into Miss Dexter’s eyes as she gazed, unseeingly, at a seabird poised over the water; but almost immediately she turned to her niece with her usual matter-of-fact calm.

“We were talking of your father’s affairs,” she said. “I notice a sinful extravagance here: servants you do not need, a gasoline launch, and two automobiles.”

Ruth laughed.

“Father must get to town quickly, and cars sometimes break down; besides, I believe he can afford them all. I sometimes think you are rather hard on him.”

“I’ll admit that I have often wondered how he got his money. One cannot make a fortune quickly without meeting many temptations. I suppose you know your Uncle Charles had to lend him a thousand dollars soon after you were born, and it was not paid back until a few years ago? Does your father never tell you anything about his business?”

“I haven’t thought of asking him,” Ruth answered with some warmth. “He has always been very kind to me, and I know that whatever he does is right.”

“A proper feeling,” her aunt commented. “No doubt, he is no worse than the others; but men’s ideas are very lax nowadays.”

Ruth was more amused than resentful. Though she was her father’s staunch partisan, she believed her aunt distrusted the makers of rapid fortunes as a class rather than her brother-in-law in particular, and that her frugal mind shrank with old-fashioned aversion from modern luxury. For all that, Caroline Dexter had roused the girl’s curiosity as to her father’s fortune and she determined to learn something about his years of struggle when opportunity offered.

A moving cloud of dust rose among the firs where the descending road crossed the hillside, and a big gray automobile flashed across an opening. Ruth knew the car, and there was only one man of her acquaintance who would bring it down the water-seamed dip at that reckless speed.

“It’s Aynsley,” she said, with a pleased expression. “I’ll bring him here.”

“And who is Aynsley?”

“I forgot you don’t know. He’s Aynsley Clay, the son of my father’s old partner, and runs in and out of the house when he’s at home.”

Turning away, she hurried toward the house, and as she reached it a young man came out on the veranda. He was dressed in white flannel, with a straw hat and blue serge jacket, and his pleasant face was bronzed by the sea.

“I came right through,” he said, holding out his hand. “It was particularly nice of you to leave your chair to meet me.”

“I’m glad to see you back,” Ruth responded. “Did you have a pleasant time? When did you get home?”

“Left the yacht at Portland yesterday, and came straight on. Found the old man out of town, and decided I’d stop at Martin’s place. I’m due there this evening.”

“But it’s twenty miles off over the mountains, and this isn’t the nearest way.”

Clay laughed, with a touch of diffidence that became him.

“What’s twenty miles, even on a hill road, when you’re anxious to see your friends?”

He watched her as closely as he dared, for some hint of response, but he was puzzled by her manner.

“It isn’t a road,” she laughed. “Some day you’ll come here in pieces.”

“I wonder whether you’d be sorry?”

“You ought to know. But come along – I believe my aunt is curious about you.”

When he was presented, Miss Dexter gave him a glance of candid scrutiny. Aynsley was marked by a certain elegance and careless good humor, which were not the qualities she most admired in young men, but she liked his face and the frankness of his gaze. If he were one of the idle rich, he was, she thought, a rather good specimen.

“What is your profession?” she asked him bluntly, when they had talked a few moments.

“It’s rather difficult to state, because my talents and pursuits are varied. I’m a bit of a naturalist, and something of a yachtsman, while I really think I’m smart at handling a refractory automobile. When I was younger, it was my ambition to ride a raw cayuse, but now one grapples with the mysteries of valves and cams. The times change, though one can’t be sure that they improve.”

“Then you don’t do anything?”

“I’m afraid you hold my father’s utilitarian views, but there’s room for a difference of opinion about what constitutes hard work. To-day, for instance, I spent two hours lying on my back beneath the car and fitting awkward little bolts into holes; then I drove her fifty miles in three hours over a villainous road, graded with rocks and split fir-trees. As I’ve another twenty miles to go, my own opinion is that I’ll have done enough for any ordinary man when I get through.”

“And how much better off is the community for your labors?”

“It’s some consolation that nobody’s much the worse, but I’ve known the community suffer when it was slow in getting out of the way.”

Though she shook her head disapprovingly, there was a gleam of amusement in Miss Dexter’s eyes.

“I suppose you’re a product of your age, and can’t be blamed for the outlook your environment has forced upon you. After all, there are more harmful toys than cars and yachts; enjoy them strenuously while you can. It may fit you for something sterner when you lose your taste for them. And there’s something in your look which makes me think that time may come.”

A half-hour later Ruth and Aynsley were strolling together through a grove of pines by the water’s edge.

“What did you think of my aunt?” she asked.

“I think Miss Dexter is a very fine lady. What’s more, I begin to see where you got something I’ve noticed about you. I suppose you know that you and she are not unlike?”

Ruth smiled. Her aunt was hard-featured and very badly dressed; but she knew that these were not the points which had impressed him.

“The good impression seems to have been mutual,” she said; “and to tell the truth, I was slightly surprised. She’s generally severe to idlers.”

“I knew she’d spot me by my clothes, and I played up to the part. It pleases people when you fall in with the ideas they form about you. But speaking of idlers reminds me that before I went away the old man was getting after me about wasting my talents; opined it was time I did something, and said he’d stand for the losses I’d no doubt make in the first two years if I’d run the Canadian mill he’s lately bought. I pointed out that it might cost him more than the boats and cars, and he answered that he’d consider it as a fine for the way he brought me up. However, we won’t talk about that. It’s too fine a day.”

This was characteristic of him and Ruth laughed. He was careless and inconsequent, but they had been friends for a long time and she liked him. It was perhaps curious that she had never troubled herself about his feeling for her, and had gone on taking his unexacting friendship for granted. It was seldom that he became sentimental, and then she had no trouble in checking him.

“Well,” she said, “you have told me nothing about your voyage. You must have seen something of interest, and had a few adventures.”

“It’s a good rule to avoid adventures when you can, and we followed it. Perhaps the most interesting thing was my meeting with three men who were fishing on a lonely island far up to the north.”

“Fishing? That doesn’t sound very exciting.”

They sat down where an opening in the pines gave them a view of climbing forests and sparkling sound, and Aynsley lighted a cigarette.

“That’s what they seemed to be doing, but I’ve had my suspicions about it since. If they caught anything, it would be a long way from a market, and, though they were dirty and ragged enough, two of them hadn’t the look of regular fishermen. One rather amusing fellow was very much of the kind you’d meet at a sporting club, and the other had the stamp of a navy or first-class mailboat man. He was English.”

Ruth looked up quickly. Jimmy had often been in her thoughts since she had last seen him; although, as he had shown no anxiety to avail himself of her invitation, she had made no inquiries about him. Osborne, however, had visited Vancouver, and, seeing the vessel at the wharf, had inquired about Farquhar and learned that he had left the ship on her previous voyage. Ruth resented his silence, but she could not forget him.

“What was the man like?” she asked.

“Which of them?”

“The last one; the navy man.” She found it slightly embarrassing to answer the question.

Aynsley gave her a keen glance.

“So far as I can recollect, he had light hair, and his eyes were a darker blue than you often see; about my age, I think, and unmistakably a sailor, but he had a smart look and the stamp of command. Do you know anybody like that?”

Ruth did not answer with her usual frankness; although she did not doubt that this was the second mate with whom she had spent many evenings on the big liner’s saloon deck.

“Oh, of course, we met several steamboat officers, and they’re much of a type,” she answered in an indifferent tone.

Aynsley saw that she was on her guard. Girls, he understood, often had a partiality for mailboat officers who were generally men of prepossessing appearance and manners. However, he kept his thoughts to himself, for he was usually diffident with Ruth. Although he had long admired her, he knew that he would not gain anything by an attempt to press his suit.

“Anyway,” he said, “they were pleasant fellows, and seemed to be having a hard time. Between the ice and gales and fog, it’s by no means a charming neighborhood.”

“Wasn’t it on one of those islands that my father was wrecked, and lost the gold he was bringing down?”

“Somewhere about there. Islands are plentiful in the North.” Aynsley paused and laughed. “Still, as my respected parent had some interest in the gold, I shouldn’t imagine they lost much. Losing things is not a habit of his. I believe he had a share in the vessel, too.”

“But she went down.”

“That wouldn’t matter. The underwriters would have an opportunity for paying up – probably rather more than she was worth. Considering my parentage, it’s curious I have no business talent.”

“Your father and mine have had dealings for a long time, haven’t they?”

“They have stood by each other for a good many years. It looks as if you and I were destined to be friends; but I sometimes think you don’t understand just what your friendship is to me.”

“Of course, we are good friends,” Ruth said carelessly; “but you have plenty others.”

“I have a host of acquaintances; but you’re different from the rest. That doesn’t sound very original, but it’s what I feel. There’s an intangible something that’s very fine about you; something rare and old-fashioned that belongs more to the quiet corners of the New England States than to our mushroom cities. It comes of long and careful cultivation, and isn’t to be found in places that spring up in a night.”

“Both my father’s and my mother’s people lived frugally in a very provincial Eastern town.”

“It proves my point. I know the kind of place: a ‘Sleepy Hollow,’ where nothing happens that hasn’t happened in the same way before, left as it was when the tide of American life poured West across the plains. One can imagine your mother’s people being bound by old traditions and clinging to the customs of more serious days. That, I think, is how you got your gracious calm, your depth of character, and a sweetness I’ve found in no one else.”

Ruth rose with a smiling rebuke, and firmly turned the conversation into another channel.