“Oh, no!” replied the lady; “a few stitches will set all to rights.  Besides, I dare not enter that room by myself.”  So far she spoke sweetly and prettily.  But now she addressed Ruth.  “Make haste—­don’t keep me an hour!” And her voice became cold and authoritative.

She was very pretty, with long dark ringlets and sparkling black eyes.  These had struck Ruth in the hasty glance she had taken, before she knelt down to her task.  She also saw that the gentleman was young and elegant.

“Oh, that lovely galop! how I long to dance to it!  Will it never be done?  What a frightful time you are taking; and I’m dying to return in time for this galop!” By way of showing a pretty, childlike impatience, she began to beat time with her feet to the spirited air the band was playing.  Ruth could not darn the rent in her dress with this continual motion, and she looked up to remonstrate.  As she threw her head back for this purpose, she caught the eye of the gentleman who was standing by; it was so expressive of amusement at the airs and graces of his pretty partner, that Ruth was infected by the feeling, and had to bend her face down to conceal the smile that mantled there.  But not before he had seen it; and not before his attention had been thereby drawn to consider the kneeling figure, that, habited in black up to the throat, with the noble head bent down to the occupation in which she was engaged, formed such a contrast to the flippant, bright, artificial girl, who sat to be served with an air as haughty as a queen on her throne.

“Oh, Mr. Bellingham!  I’m ashamed to detain you so long.  I had no idea any one could have spent so much time over a little tear.  No wonder Mrs. Mason charges so much for dressmaking, if her workwomen are so slow.”

It was meant to be witty, but Mr. Bellingham looked grave.  He saw the scarlet colour of annoyance flush to that beautiful cheek, which was partially presented to him.  He took a candle from the table, and held it so that Ruth had more light.  She did not look up to thank him, for she felt ashamed that he should have seen the smile which she had caught from him.

“I am sorry I have been so long, ma’am,” said she gently, as she finished her work; “I was afraid it might tear out again if I did not do it carefully.”  She rose.

“I would rather have had it torn than have missed that charming galop,” said the young lady, shaking out her dress as a bird shakes its plumage.  “Shall we go, Mr. Bellingham?” looking up at him.

He was surprised that she gave no word or sign of thanks to the assistant.  He took up a camellia that some one had left on the table.

“Allow me, Miss Duncombe, to give this, in your name, to this young lady, as thanks for her dexterous help.”

“Oh, of course,” said she.

Ruth received the flower silently, but with a grave, modest motion of her head.  They had gone, and she was once more alone.  Presently her companions returned.