Ruth was hurt for Mr. Farquhar, and looked sorrowfully at Jemima; but Jemima would not see her glance of upbraiding, as Ruth, hoping that she would relent, delayed a little to comply with her request.  Mr. Farquhar did; and went back to his seat to watch them both.  He saw Jemima turbulent and stormy in look; he saw Ruth, to all appearance heavenly calm as the angels, or with only that little tinge of sorrow which her friend’s behaviour had called forth.  He saw the unusual beauty of her face and form, which he had never noticed before; and he saw Jemima, with all the brilliancy she once possessed in eyes and complexion, dimmed and faded.  He watched Ruth, speaking low and soft to the little girls, who seemed to come to her in every difficulty, and he remarked her gentle firmness when their bed-time came, and they pleaded to stay up longer (their father was absent in his counting-house, or they would not have dared to do so).  He liked Ruth’s soft, distinct, unwavering “No! you must go.  You must keep to what is right,” far better than the good-natured yielding to entreaty he had formerly admired in Jemima.  He was wandering off into this comparison, while Ruth with delicate and unconscious tact, was trying to lead Jemima into some subject which should take her away from the thoughts, whatever they were, that made her so ungracious and rude.

Jemima was ashamed of herself before Ruth, in a way which she had never been before any one else.  She valued Ruth’s good opinion so highly, that she dreaded lest her friend should perceive her faults.  She put a check upon herself—­a check at first; but after a little time she had forgotten something of her trouble, and listened to Ruth, and questioned her about Leonard, and smiled at his little witticisms; and only the sighs, that would come up from the very force of habit, brought back the consciousness of her unhappiness.  Before the end of the evening, Jemima had allowed herself to speak to Mr. Farquhar in the old way—­questioning, differing, disputing.  She was recalled to the remembrance of that miserable conversation by the entrance of her father.  After that she was silent.  But he had seen her face more animated, and bright with a smile, as she spoke to Mr. Farquhar; and although he regretted the loss of her complexion (for she was still very pale), he was highly pleased with the success of his project.  He never doubted but that Ruth had given her some sort of private exhortation to behave better.  He could not have understood the pretty art with which, by simply banishing unpleasant subjects, and throwing a wholesome natural sunlit tone over others, Ruth had insensibly drawn Jemima out of her gloom.  He resolved to buy Mrs. Denbigh a handsome silk gown the very next day.  He did not believe she had a silk gown, poor creature!  He had noticed that dark-grey stuff, this long, long time, as her Sunday dress.  He liked the colour; the silk one should be just the same tinge.  Then he thought that it would, perhaps, be better to choose