“Perhaps we have other things to think of.”
“I hope so,” said Hannah easily.
He wished he had neglected her remark. He did not want to make a precedent of this conversation, but he could not let her have the last word. “And then, we pay for the coal,” he said.
Still on her knees, she turned and looked at him and, suspecting a hint of amusement on her foreshortened face, he went on, with authority. “And, in this household, we have to be economical. I notice that, for some reason or other, Ruth has a night-light in her bedroom.” He was glad to have a definite fault to find. “That seems to me both pampering and wasteful. I don’t understand this innovation. She has been used to going to sleep in the dark.”
“Yes,” said Hannah quietly, “and waking up in it.”
“And waking up in it—certainly,” he said.
“It’s not good for her,” Hannah said, decidedly.
He did not like her familiarity with his hearthrug. “Won’t you sit down?” he asked. “I think we had better discuss this matter.”
“I’ll just sweep up the hearth first,” she said, and he thought it was extraordinary that no woman could give her whole attention to a subject.
But it appeared that Miss Mole had been thinking while she swept, for when she had finished and sat down, she said at once, “You have made me responsible for the expenses of the house. If I keep within my allowance, as I have done, so far, I don’t think it’s fair to criticize details.”
“It’s not really a question of the money, Miss Mole,” he said irritably. “It’s a question of training. I don’t want Ruth encouraged in her nervousness. I hoped she was growing out of it. Often, when—when her mother was with us, she would come into our room and wake us, saying she was frightened. What is she afraid of?”
“Bears, perhaps,” Hannah said thoughtfully. “When I was a child, I was troubled by a most persistent and accomplished bear. And there was no way of escaping him. He could climb perpendicular walls; he could unlock doors. It’s no good pitting reason against things that are not reasonable in themselves—like fears.”
“So,” he said, “you are a student of psychology!”
Hannah let that sneer pass. “Bears,” she said, still in her quiet tone and looking at the fire, “or wolves. There was another time when I knew a wolf would catch me if I wasn’t on a certain stair before my bedroom door banged behind me. The wolf was half a game, but the bear was a real bear.”
“But this is ridiculous, Miss Mole. You’re not going to tell me Ruth fancies there are wild animals in her bedroom!”
“In the middle of the night? I could fancy it myself! And Ruth’s young—and old—for her age.” She looked up at him. “What about ghosts?” she asked. There was another question on the tip of her tongue but, in loyalty to Ruth, she would not ask it. Not once had Ruth spoken of her mother, there was no photograph of her in the dressing-room, and what Hannah wanted to know was whether Ruth had loved or feared the dead woman who had known, perhaps with love, perhaps with sternness, how to manage her.
“Ghosts!” Robert Corder snorted. “I would rather it was bears!”
“I expect she would, too,” Hannah said promptly, and stood up. “Bears or ghosts, the night-light will keep them off.”
“I’m not satisfied about it,” he said. Miss Mole was taking too much for granted. “And Ruth knows I’m near her.”
Hannah loosed her folded hands and raised her shoulders. “You are the master of the house,” she said, quite unnecessarily, he thought, “but I ask you,” her hands came together again, “to let her have the night-light. I warn you not to take it from her. Ruth isn’t strong, but I can look after her if I’m given the chance.”
“That is partly what you are here for.”
“Then give me the chance,” she said, smiling, rather startlingly, for the first time.
“I’ll think it over,” he said, turning towards his tea-tray.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, and he was vexed that she should thank him. Had there been something ironical in her tone?
He sat, stirring his tea, considering their conversation and searching for offence in her share of it. She had been a little too talkative with her stories of her childhood. She was gaining confidence, he supposed, and might prove to be one of those chattering women if she was encouraged. Her hint of understanding Ruth better than he did was annoying. But it was true that Ruth was not strong. She caught cold easily—like her mother. He would think it over, he told himself, but he knew that Miss Mole would have her way. He was not going to run a risk and be blamed if harm came of it, and she might be right. Mrs. Spenser-Smith had spoken of her experience. He felt puzzled about Miss Mole and wished he had not mentioned money. Parsimony was not one of his failings and it had been unfair to himself—the result of his upsetting day—to talk as though it were.
XII
Ruth’s door was open when Hannah went up to bed and there was no light in her room. Had Mr. Corder been up and blown it out, in the cause of discipline? She was ready to rush downstairs and upbraid him, when a sharp-whistled note called her in.
“I got into bed,” Ruth said slowly, “and the matches weren’t on the table so I couldn’t light the night-light and I thought I’d wait till you came up.”
“If you got out of bed to open the door, why didn’t you get the matches at the same time?”
“The door wasn’t shut,” Ruth said.
“I see,” said Hannah. She admired the strategy and the adroitness of Ruth’s explanation and she had to control the gratified twitching of her lips as she lighted the guardian
