Mrs. Josselin, awed by her daughter’s appearance—­a little perhaps, by her loveliness; more, belike, by her air of distinction and her fine dress (though this was simple enough—­a riding suit of grey velvet, with a broad-brimmed hat and one black feather)—­withdrew behind her back the hand she had been wiping, and stood irresolute, smiling in a timid way.

It was horrible.  Ruth stretched out her arms lest in another moment her mother should bob a curtsy.

“Mother—­mother!”

She took the poor creature in her arms and held her, shivering a little as she sought her lips; for Mrs. Josselin, albeit scrupulously clean, had a trace of that strange wild smell that haunts the insane.  Ruth had lived with it aforetime and ceased to notice it.  Now she recognised it, and shivered.

“Surely, surely,” said the mother as soon as the embrace released her.  “I always said you would come back, some day.  In wealth or in trouble, I always told grandfather you would come back. . . .  That hat, now—­the very latest I’ll be bound. . . .  And how is your good gentleman?”

“Mother!  Please do not call him that!”

“Why, you ha’n’t quarrelled, ha’ you?”

“Indeed, no.”

“That’s right.”  Mrs. Josselin nodded, looking extremely wise.  “Show a good face always, no matter what happens; and, with your looks there’s no saying what you can’t persuade him to.  All the Pococks were good-looking, though I say it who shouldn’t:  and as for the Josselins—­”

“Sit down, mother,” Ruth commanded.  She must get this over, and soon, for it was straining at her heart.  “Sit down and listen to what I have to tell.  Afterwards you shall get me something to eat; and while you are dishing it—­dear mother, you were always briskest about the fireplace—­we will talk in the old style.”

“Surely, surely.”  Mrs. Josselin seated herself on the block-stool.

“You remember the promise?  In three years—­and yesterday the three years were up—­I was to come back and report myself.”

“Is it three years, now?  Time do slip away!”

“The gel’s right,” corroborated old Josselin, pausing as he filled a pipe.  “I remember it.”

“This is what I have to report—­Sir Oliver has asked me to marry him.”

There was a pause.  “I dunno,” said the old man sourly—­and Ruth knew that tone so well!  He always used it on hearing good news, lest he should be mistaken for genial—­“I dunno why you couldn’ ha’ told us that straight off, without beatin’ round the bush.  It’s important enough.”

“He has asked me to marry him, and I have said ‘yes.’”

“What else could ye say?”

“Of course she said ‘yes,’ the darling!” Mrs. Josselin clapped her hands together, without noise.  “What did I ever say but that ’twas a chance, if you used it?  But when is it to be?” she added, suspiciously.

“Very soon.  As soon as I please, in fact.”