“Why do you sit there like a stone and never say a word!” she demanded.  “I knew you didn’t know the first earthly thing about love, but I didn’t know you were dumb.  Why don’t you speak?  Can’t you say what a fine fellow William is?  You know it, just as well as I do!  Everybody knows it.  Everybody respects William and looks up to him.  Everybody is bound to do it.  He always does what is right and sensible.  He isn’t forever doing and saying things that he has to be sorry for, as I am.  He always goes steadily straight ahead.  He isn’t moved by every heart-beat and swayed by every fancy like you and me.  Why even uncle Robert defers to William, because he is so dignified and right-minded.  He always knows just what to do and say.  Uncle Philip often speaks of it. He appreciates William. He never criticises him for being serious when other people are joking.  And I’ve seen you do it many a time, when you didn’t know I was looking.  Yes, and uncle Robert, too.  I’ve seen his eyebrow go up when he didn’t know that it did.  And I won’t have it!  Do you hear?  I won’t have people laughing at William, just because he never laughs.  I like him all the better for it.  I think all the more highly of him because he never understands my silly, light little ways.  I do—­I tell you I do!”

She sprang up and stamped her foot, and then, sitting down again, burst into helpless sobbing, and laid her head on the boy’s shoulder.  He could only draw her closer, and hold her in silent tenderness, having no words that he dared utter.  After a time her sobs ceased, and lifting her head, she looked round, dimpling and smiling through the tears which were still heavy on her dark lashes.

“Well, then, since you don’t know anything about love, sir, look and see what your silly old book says.  Oh, you needn’t pretend that you haven’t got it,” she said gayly.  “If it isn’t in your hand, it is in your pocket, or you have hidden it.  Get it instantly,” pretending to shake him.

The boy bashfully drew the book from beneath the log, while Ruth bantered him with sweet, bubbling laughter that made him think of awakening birds and blossoming orchards.  He turned the leaves in embarrassed haste.

“I don’t find anything about love,” he stammered.  “But here is something about marriage.”

“As if they weren’t one and the same!” cried Ruth.  “Read it.  Let’s hear what it says.  Read every word carefully and distinctly.”

David then read aloud what the Knight of the Oracle said to the Most Fair Constantia:—­

“They are truly married that have with united hearts plighted promise of perpetual friendship, electing one another by true love and not by outward ceremony; for where true love is not there can be no perfect marriage, though the outward ceremony be never so well performed.”

“As if everybody didn’t know that already!” scouted Ruth.  “Any gosling of a girl knows that without having to be told.  There isn’t a single word there to tell what true love is, and what its signs are.  If I didn’t love you so dearly, David, I couldn’t love you at all when you are so dull.  What do you mean by reading anything so tiresome out of that foolish book?  I think worse of it than ever.”