She was no analyser; she hardly even had learnt to notice character; but she felt there was some strange difference between the people she had lived with lately and the man who now leant back in his chair, listening in a careless manner to the conversation, but never joining in, or expressing any interest in it, unless it somewhere, or somehow, touched himself. Now, Mr. Bradshaw always threw himself into a subject; it might be in a pompous, dogmatic sort of way, but he did do it, whether it related to himself or not; and it was part of Mr. Hickson's trade to assume an interest if he felt it not. But Mr. Donne did neither the one nor the other. When the other two were talking of many of the topics of the day, he put his glass in his eye, the better to examine into the exact nature of a cold game-pie at the other side of the table. Suddenly Ruth felt that his attention was caught by her. Until now, seeing his short-sightedness, she had believed herself safe; now her face flushed with a painful, miserable blush. But in an instant she was strong and quiet. She looked up straight at his face;and, as if this action took him aback, he dropped his glass, and began eating away with great diligence. She had seen him. He was changed, she knew not how. In fact, the expression, which had been only occasional formerly, when his worse self predominated, had become permanent. He looked restless and dissatisfied. But he was very handsome still; and her quick eye had recognised, with a sort of strange pride, that the eyes and mouth were like Leonard's. Although perplexed by the straightforward, brave look she had sent right at him, he was not entirely baffled. He ought this Mrs.
Denbigh was certainly like poor Ruth; but this woman was far handsomer.
Her face was positively Greek; and then such a proud, superb turn of her head; quite queenly! A governess in Mr. Bradshaw's family! Why, she might be a Percy or a Howard for the grandeur of her grace! Poor Ruth! This woman's hair was darker, though; and she had less colour; although a more refined-looking person. Poor Ruth! and, for the first time for several years, he wondered what had become of her; though, of course, there was but one thing that could have happened, and perhaps it was as well he did not know her end, for most likely it would have made him very uncomfortable. He leant back in his chair, and, unobserved (for he would not have thought it gentlemanly to look so fixedly at her if she or any one noticed him), he put up his glass again. She was speaking to one of her pupils, and did not see him. By Jove! it must be she, though! There were little dimples came out about the mouth as she spoke, just like those he used to admire so much in Ruth, and which he had never seen in any one else--the sunshine without the positive movement of a smile. The longer he looked the more he was convinced; and it was with a jerk that he recovered himself enough to answer Mr. Bradshaw's question, whether he wished to go to church or not. "Church? How far--a mile? No; I think I shall perform my devotions at home to-day." He absolutely felt jealous when Mr. Hickson sprang up to open the door as Ruth and her pupils left the room. He was pleased to feel jealous again.
He had been really afraid he was too much "used up" for such sensations.
But Hickson must keep his place. What he was paid for was doing the talking to the electors, not paying attention to the ladles in their families.
Mr. Donne had noticed that Mr. Hickson had tried to be gallant to Miss Bradshaw; let him, if he liked; but let him beware how he behaved to this fair creature, Ruth or no Ruth. It certainly was Ruth; only how the devil had she played her cards so well as to be the governess--the respected governess, in. such a family as Mr. Bradshaw's? Mr. Donne's movements were evidently to be the guide of Mr. Hickson's.
Mr. Bradshaw always disliked going to church, partly from principle, partly because he never could find the places in the Prayer-book. Mr. Donne was in the drawing-room as Mary came down ready equipped; he was turning over the leaves of the large and handsome Bible. Seeing Mary, he was struck with a new idea. "How singular it is," said he, "that the name of Ruth is so seldom chosen by those good people who go to the Bible before they christen their children!
It is a very pretty name, I think." Mr. Bradshaw looked up. "Why, Mary!" said he, "is not that Mrs. Denbigh's name?" "Yes, papa," replied Mary eagerly; "and I know two other Ruths; there's Ruth Brown here, and Ruth Macartney at Eccleston." "And I have an aunt called Ruth, Mr. Donne! I don't think your observation holds good. Besides my daughters' governess, I know three other Ruths." "Oh! I have no doubt I was wrong. It was just a speech of which one perceives the folly the moment it is made." But, secretly, he rejoiced with a fierce joy over the success of his device. Elizabeth came to summon Mary. Ruth was glad when she got into the open air, and away from the house.
Two hours were gone and over. Two out of a day, a day and a half--for it might be late on Monday morning before the Eccleston party returned. She felt weak and trembling in body, but strong in power over herself.
They had left the house in good time for church, so they needed not to hurry; and they went leisurely along the road, now and then passing some country person whom they knew, and with whom they exchanged a kindly, placid greeting. But presently, to Ruth's dismay, she heard a step behind, coming at a rapid pace, a peculiar clank of rather high-heeled boots, which gave a springy sound to the walk, that she had known well long ago. It was like a nightmare, where the evil dreaded is never avoided, never completely shunned, but is by one's side at the very moment of triumph in escape.