Ruth came downstairs with a little flush on her cheeks when she was ready to go.  She held her bonnet and shawl in her hand, for she knew Miss Benson and Sally would want to see her dressed.

“Is not mamma pretty?” asked Leonard, with a child’s pride.

“She looks very nice and tidy,” said Miss Benson, who had an idea that children should not talk or think about beauty.

“I think my ruff looks so nice,” said Ruth, with gentle pleasure.  And, indeed, it did look nice, and set off the pretty round throat most becomingly.  Her hair, now grown long and thick, was smoothed as close to her head as its waving nature would allow, and plaited up in a great rich knot low down behind.  The grey gown was as plain as plain could be.

“You should have light gloves, Ruth,” said Miss Benson.  She went upstairs, and brought down a delicate pair of Limerick ones, which had been long treasured up in a walnut-shell.

“They say them gloves is made of chickens’-skins,” said Sally, examining them curiously.  “I wonder how they set about skinning ’em.”

“Here, Ruth,” said Mr. Benson, coming in from the garden, “here’s a rose or two for you.  I am sorry there are no more; I hoped I should have had my yellow rose out by this time, but the damask and the white are in a warmer corner, and have got the start.”

Miss Benson and Leonard stood at the door, and watched her down the little passage-street till she was out of sight.

She had hardly touched the bell at Mr. Bradshaw’s door, when Mary and Elizabeth opened it with boisterous glee.

“We saw you coming—­we’ve been watching for you—­we want you to come round the garden before tea; papa is not come in yet.  Do come!”

She went round the garden with a little girl clinging to each arm.  It was full of sunshine and flowers, and this made the contrast between it and the usual large family room (which fronted the north-east, and therefore had no evening sun to light up its cold, drab furniture) more striking than usual.  It looked very gloomy.  There was the great dining-table, heavy and square; the range of chairs, straight and square; the work-boxes, useful and square; the colouring of walls, and carpets, and curtains, all of the coldest description; everything was handsome, and everything was ugly.  Mrs. Bradshaw was asleep in her easy-chair when they came in.  Jemima had just put down her work, and, lost in thought, she leaned her cheek on her hand.  When she saw Ruth she brightened a little, and went to her and kissed her.  Mrs. Bradshaw jumped up at the sound of their entrance, and was wide awake in a moment.

“Oh!  I thought your father was here,” said she, evidently relieved to find that he had not come in and caught her sleeping.