“How I should like to see a play!” exclaimed she.

“Should you?” said her brother listlessly.

“Yes, to be sure!  Just hear this!” and she began to read a fine passage of criticism.

“Those newspaper people can make an article out of anything,” said he, yawning.

“I’ve seen the man myself, and it was all very well, but nothing to make such a fuss about.”

“You! you seen——!  Have you seen a play, Richard?  Oh, why did you never tell me before?  Tell me all about it!  Why did you never name seeing——­in your letters?”

He half smiled, contemptuously enough.  “Oh! at first it strikes one rather, but after a while one cares no more for the theatre than one does for mince-pies.”

“Oh, I wish I might go to London!” said Jemima impatiently.  “I’ve a great mind to ask papa to let me go to the George Smiths’, and then I could see——.  I would not think him like mince-pies.”

“You must not do any such thing!” said Richard, now neither yawning nor contemptuous.  “My father would never allow you to go to the theatre; and the George Smiths are such old fogeys—­they would be sure to tell.”

“How do you go, then?  Does my father give you leave?”

“Oh! many things are right for men which are not for girls.”

Jemima sat and pondered.  Richard wished he had not been so confidential.

“You need not name it,” said he, rather anxiously.

“Name what?” said she, startled, for her thoughts had gone far afield.

“Oh, name my going once or twice to the theatre!”

“No, I shan’t name it!” said she.  “No one here would care to hear it.”

But it was with some little surprise, and almost with a feeling of disgust, that she heard Richard join with her father in condemning some one, and add to Mr. Bradshaw’s list of offences, by alleging that the young man was a playgoer.  He did not think his sister heard his words.  Mary and Elizabeth were the two girls whom Ruth had in charge; they resembled Jemima more than their brother in character.  The household rules were occasionally a little relaxed in their favour, for Mary, the elder, was nearly eight years younger than Jemima, and three intermediate children had died.  They loved Ruth dearly, made a great pet of Leonard, and had many profound secrets together, most of which related to their wonders if Jemima and Mr. Farquhar would ever be married.  They watched their sister closely; and every day had some fresh confidence to make to each other, confirming or discouraging to their hopes.

Ruth rose early, and shared the household work with Sally and Miss Benson till seven; and then she helped Leonard to dress, and had a quiet time alone with him till prayers and breakfast.  At nine she was to be at Mr. Bradshaw’s house.  She sat in the room with Mary and Elizabeth during the Latin, the writing, and arithmetic lessons, which they received from masters; then she read, and walked with them, clinging to her as to an elder sister; she dined with her pupils at the family lunch, and reached home by four.  That happy home—­those quiet days!  And so the peaceful days passed on into weeks, and months, and years, and Ruth and Leonard grew and strengthened into the riper beauty of their respective ages; while as yet no touch of decay had come on the quaint, primitive elders of the household.