Ruth could not speak; for, even yet, she did not understand what he meant.  He went on—­

“Now, how old is the lad?” He asked Ruth, but Miss Benson replied—­

“He’ll be twelve next February.”

“Umph! only twelve!  He’s tall and old-looking for his age.  You look young enough, it is true.”  He said this last sentence as if to himself, but seeing Ruth crimson up, ho abruptly changed his tone.

“Twelve, is he?  Well, I take him from now.  I don’t mean that I really take him away from you,” said he, softening all at once, and becoming grave and considerate.  “His being your son—­the son of one whom I have seen—­as I have seen you, Mrs. Denbigh (out and out the best nurse I ever met with, Miss Benson; and good nurses are things we doctors know how to value)—­his being your son is his great recommendation to me; not but what the lad himself is a noble boy.  I shall be glad to leave him with you as long and as much as we can; he could not be tied to your apron-strings all his life, you know.  Only I provide for his education, subject to your consent and good pleasure, and he is bound apprentice to me.  I, his guardian, bind him to myself, the first surgeon in Eccleston, be the other who he may; and in process of time he becomes partner, and some day or other succeeds me.  Now, Mrs. Denbigh, what have you got to say against this plan?  My wife is just as full of it as me.  Come; begin with your objections.  You’re not a woman if you have not a whole bag-full of them ready to turn out against any reasonable proposal.”

“I don’t know,” faltered Ruth.  “It is so sudden——­”

“It is very, very kind of you, Mr. Davis,” said Miss Benson, a little scandalised at Ruth’s non-expression of gratitude.

“Pooh! pooh!  I’ll answer for it, in the long-run, I am taking good care of my own interests.  Come, Mrs. Denbigh, is it a bargain?”

Now Mr. Benson spoke.

“Mr. Davis, it is rather sudden, as she says.  As far as I can see, it is the best as well as the kindest proposal that could have been made; but I think we must give her a little time to think about it.”

“Well, twenty-four hours!  Will that do?”

Ruth lifted up her head.  “Mr. Davis, I am not ungrateful because I can’t thank you” (she was crying while she spoke); “let me have a fortnight to consider about it.  In a fortnight I will make up my mind.  Oh, how good you all are!”

“Very well.  Then this day fortnight—­Thursday the 28th—­you will let me know your decision.  Mind! if it’s against me, I sha’n’t consider it a decision, for I’m determined to carry my point.  I’m not going to make Mrs. Denbigh blush, Mr. Benson, by telling you, in her presence, of all I have observed about her this last three weeks, that has made me sure of the good qualities I shall find in this boy of hers.  I was watching her when she little thought of it.  Do you remember that night when Hector O’Brien was so furiously delirious, Mrs. Denbigh?”