“Oh, Mrs. Armstrong,” she faltered, “may I speak with you just—­ just for a few minutes?”

And now Ruth hesitated.  What was it the girl wished to speak about?  If it was to reproach her or her brother, or to demand further explanations or apologies, the interview had far better not take place.  She was in no mood to listen to reproaches.  Charles was, in her eyes, a martyr and a hero and now, largely because of this girl, he was going away to certain danger, perhaps to death.  She had tried, for his sake, not to blame Maud Hunniwell because Charles had fallen in love with her, but she was not, just then, inclined toward extreme forbearance.  So she hesitated, and Maud spoke again.

“May I speak with you for just a few minutes?” she pleaded.  “I have just got his letter and—­oh, may I?”

Ruth silently led the way to the door of the little house.

“Come in,” she said.

Together they entered the sitting-room.  Ruth asked her caller to be seated, but Maud paid no attention.

“I have just got his letter,” she faltered.  “I—­I wanted you to know—­to know that it doesn’t make any difference.  I—­I don’t care.  If he loves me, and—­and he says he does—­I don’t care for anything else. . . .  Oh,’ please be nice to me,” she begged, holding out her hands.  “You are his sister and—­and I love him so!  And he is going away from both of us.”

So Ruth’s coldness melted like a fall of snow in early April, and the April showers followed it.  She and Maud wept in each other’s arms and were femininely happy accordingly.  And for at least a half hour thereafter they discussed the surpassing excellencies of Charlie Phillips, the certainty that Captain Hunniwell would forgive him because he could not help it and a variety of kindred and satisfying subjects.  And at last Jed Winslow drifted into the conversation.

“And so you have been talking it over with Jed,” observed Ruth.  “Isn’t it odd how we all go to him when we are in trouble or need advice or anything?  I always do and Charlie did, and you say that you do, too.”

Maud nodded.  “He and I have been what Pa calls ‘chummies’ ever since I can remember,” she said simply.

“I don’t know why I feel that I can confide in him to such an extent.  Somehow I always have.  And, do you know, his advice is almost always good?  If I had taken it from the first we might, all of us, have avoided a deal of trouble.  I have cause to think of Jed Winslow as something sure and safe and trustworthy.  Like a nice, kindly old watch dog, you know.  A queer one and a funny one, but awfully nice.  Babbie idolizes him.”

Maud nodded again.  She was regarding her companion with an odd expression.