Her thoughts had carried her past Ruth’s half open door, but Ruth’s voice arrested them.
“Is that you, Miss Mole?” she called cautiously. “I thought it might be Father,” she explained. “That’s why I spoke like that. It didn’t sound a bit like you, Moley. You generally run upstairs so much quicker than anybody else.”
“So I’ve been told before,” Hannah said.
“You’re not tired, are you?”
“Yes I am, rather.”
“Oh, dear! And I’m afraid you had a dull evening. I enjoyed the concert and Wilfrid was so nice, coming home, not trying to show off, or anything silly. He’s like that when you’re alone with him. And Ethel’s in a very good temper and Howard will be here in a few days, but I don’t like you to be tired. I do hope we’re not going to be too much for you.”
“I hope not,” Hannah said, with a wry smile. “I shall be all right in the morning,” she added cheerfully, but she stayed up for a long time, in the cold of her bedroom, working at Ruth’s dress, repaying the child, whom she was afraid to kiss, for her first sign of thoughtfulness.
XXI
The arrival of Howard Corder unfortunately coincided with the arrival of Mr. Blenkinsop’s letter, and what should have been a glad little family gathering had Robert Corder’s views of the younger generation for its entertainment. Mr. Blenkinsop was the text of the discourse, but everyone felt that illustrations from the home circle might be supplied, and Wilfrid sat in lively, and Howard in patient, expectation of reproach. Mr. Corder spared them this, however, and, breaking off suddenly, he remarked with a smile, that he did not want to spoil Howard’s first evening at home.
Wilfrid twisted an eyebrow in Miss Mole’s direction and Howard looked steadily at his plate. He seemed to have all the patience the other Corders lacked and a capacity for being contented if he were given the chance.
“Howard must tell us all the news of Oxford,” his father said, generously resigning his position of spokesman.
“Oh—it’s just the same as usual. We’ve had a lot of fog,” Howard said, and suddenly, at a slight movement from the head of the table, Wilfrid and Ethel both began to speak at once.
Wilfrid waved a hand courteously. “Go on. Your turn.”
“Oh, it’s nothing. I was just going to say it’s funny you should have had that letter from Mr. Blenkinsop—”
“Funny!” Robert Corder exclaimed.
“I mean—queer, because I’ve had one from Patsy Withers. She doesn’t want to help me with the Club any longer.”
“Indeed? Well, no doubt Miss Withers has very good reasons for her decision and I can see no likeness between her and Mr. Blenkinsop.”
“Oh, no!” Ethel agreed eagerly, “but she did promise to help, and now she says Wednesday evening doesn’t suit her. Oh! Perhaps she likes going to the weeknight service.”
“That would be very strange,” her father said bitingly. “As a matter of fact, she was there last time. I told you it was a mistake to have Wednesday for the Club.”
“But the girls wanted it then, and the Club’s for the girls.”
“Then you must be prepared to lose your helpers.”
“I should think you’d be glad,” said Ruth. “I hate Patsy Withers.”
“Ruthie, Ruthie!”
“I do,” Ruth said stubbornly. “She’s like barley sugar, yellow and squirmy, and her voice is like it too, all sweet and waggly, and she talks to me as if I’m about six.”
“If you were six I should send you to bed,” said her father. “I won’t have such remarks made at my table.”
“But you were making them yourself about Mr. Blenkinsop,” Ruth said sullenly.
“That’s a very different matter,” he said, and he went out of the room. This was his usual way of emphasising a disapproval which he forebore to express in words, and possibly he believed it left his family depressed. Ethel, indeed, looked frightened, and Ruth looked glum until her next speech sent Wilfrid into a roar of laughter.
“I don’t think it’s good for people to be ministers,” she said, and Ethel cried, “Oh, hush, Wilfrid, hush! Father will hear you. And it’s very wrong of you, Ruth, to say such things. It’s a noble profession. Isn’t it, Miss Mole?”
“All professions can be noble,” Hannah replied gravely. It was only a little while since Ethel had extolled the doctor’s calling in the same words, only a little longer since Ruth had flushed in loyalty to her father when Miss Mole had disconcerted him, and in these changes she measured the profundity of Ethel’s feelings and the extent of Ruth’s trust. It was Howard, to whom Miss Mole was a stranger, who looked uncomfortable, and Ethel, glancing from one face to another, looking for support and thinking of Mr. Pilgrim, assuring herself she was right but wishing they would all agree with her, saw her brother’s look and misinterpreted it.
“And when your own brother’s a minister, you’ll change your mind,” she said.
“Oh, shut up,” said Howard. “Let’s go into the other room and play at something.”
“Coming, Mona Lisa?” Wilfrid asked.
Hannah shook her head and remained by the fire, under the hissing gas. As soon as Robert Corder heard the young people in the drawing-room, he would look into the dining-room to see if Miss Mole was doing her duty; in his present mood he would be more disappointed than pleased to see her there, and Miss Mole was willing to disappoint him, but what a pity it was, she thought, that he and she could not be companionable. Did it never occur to him, that she might crave for maturer society sometimes and need more relaxation than she got? From seven o’clock in the morning until half-past ten at night, she was busy in his service, dusting, cooking carefully, making beds, shopping economically, darning socks and stockings and his under garments, superintending Doris, who was slow and stupid, and she got her little periods of leisure by her own speed and contrivance. If he had been a different kind
