“Tell me everything, Ruth, as you would to a brother; let me help you, if I can, in your difficulties,” he said to her one afternoon.  And he really did try to understand, and to realise, how an insignificant and paltry person like Mason the dressmaker could be an object of dread, and regarded as a person having authority, by Ruth.  He flamed up with indignation when, by way of impressing him with Mrs. Mason’s power and consequence, Ruth spoke of some instance of the effects of her employer’s displeasure.  He declared his mother should never have a gown made again by such a tyrant—­such a Mrs. Brownrigg; that he would prevent all his acquaintances from going to such a cruel dressmaker; till Ruth was alarmed at the threatened consequences of her one-sided account, and pleaded for Mrs. Mason as earnestly as if a young man’s menace of this description were likely to be literally fulfilled.

“Indeed, sir, I have been very wrong; if you please, sir, don’t be so angry.  She is often very good to us; it is only sometimes she goes into a passion:  and we are very provoking, I dare say.  I know I am for one.  I have often to undo my work, and you can’t think how it spoils anything (particularly silk) to be unpicked; and Mrs. Mason has to bear all the blame.  Oh!  I am sorry I said anything about it.  Don’t speak to your mother about it, pray, sir.  Mrs. Mason thinks so much of Mrs. Bellingham’s custom.”

“Well, I won’t this time”—­recollecting that there might be some awkwardness in accounting to his mother for the means by which he had obtained his very correct information as to what passed in Mrs. Mason’s workroom—­“but, if ever she does so again, I’ll not answer for myself.”

“I will take care and not tell again, sir,” said Ruth, in a low voice.

“Nay, Ruth, you are not going to have secrets from me, are you?  Don’t you remember your promise to consider me as a brother?  Go on telling me everything that happens to you, pray; you cannot think how much interest I take in all your interests.  I can quite fancy that charming home at Milham you told me about last Sunday.  I can almost fancy Mrs. Mason’s workroom; and that, surely, is a proof either of the strength of my imagination, or of your powers of description.”

Ruth smiled.  “It is, indeed, sir.  Our workroom must be so different to anything you ever saw.  I think you must have passed through Milham often on your way to Lowford.”

“Then you don’t think it is any stretch of fancy to have so clear an idea as I have of Milham Grange?  On the left hand of the road, is it, Ruth?”

“Yes, sir, just over the bridge, and up the hill where the elm-trees meet overhead and make a green shade; and then comes the dear old Grange, that I shall never see again.”

“Never!  Nonsense, Ruthie; it is only six miles off; you may see it any day.  It is not an hour’s ride.”

“Perhaps I may see it again when I am grown old; I did not think exactly what ‘never’ meant; it is so very long since I was there, and I don’t see any chance of my going for years and years at any rate.”