The scene is again Cokeson’s room, at a few minutes to ten of a March morning, two years later.  The doors are all open.  Sweedle, now blessed with a sprouting moustache, is getting the offices ready.  He arranges papers on Cokeson’s table; then goes to a covered washstand, raises the lid, and looks at himself in the mirror.  While he is gazing his full Ruth Honeywill comes in through the outer office and stands in the doorway.  There seems a kind of exultation and excitement behind her habitual impassivity.

Sweedle. [Suddenly seeing her, and dropping the lid of the washstand with a bang] Hello!  It’s you!

Ruth.  Yes.

Sweedle.  There’s only me here!  They don’t waste their time hurrying down in the morning.  Why, it must be two years since we had the pleasure of seeing you. [Nervously] What have you been doing with yourself?

Ruth. [Sardonically] Living.

Sweedle. [Impressed] If you want to see him [he points to Cokeson’s chair], he’ll be here directly—­never misses—­not much. [Delicately] I hope our friend’s back from the country.  His time’s been up these three months, if I remember. [Ruth nods] I was awful sorry about that.  The governor made a mistake—­if you ask me.

Ruth.  He did.

Sweedle.  He ought to have given him a chanst.  And, I say, the judge ought to ha’ let him go after that.  They’ve forgot what human nature’s like.  Whereas we know. [Ruth gives him a honeyed smile]

Sweedle.  They come down on you like a cartload of bricks, flatten you out, and when you don’t swell up again they complain of it.  I know ’em—­seen a lot of that sort of thing in my time. [He shakes his head in the plenitude of wisdom] Why, only the other day the governor——­

     But Cokeson has come in through the outer office; brisk with
     east wind, and decidedly greyer.

Cokeson. [Drawing off his coat and gloves] Why! it’s you! [Then motioning Sweedle out, and closing the door] Quite a stranger!  Must be two years.  D’you want to see me?  I can give you a minute.  Sit down!  Family well?

Ruth.  Yes.  I’m not living where I was.

Cokeson. [Eyeing her askance] I hope things are more comfortable at home.

Ruth.  I couldn’t stay with Honeywill, after all.

Cokeson.  You haven’t done anything rash, I hope.  I should be sorry if you’d done anything rash.

Ruth.  I’ve kept the children with me.

Cokeson. [Beginning to feel that things are not so jolly as ha had hoped] Well, I’m glad to have seen you.  You’ve not heard from the young man, I suppose, since he came out?

Ruth.  Yes, I ran across him yesterday.

Cokeson.  I hope he’s well.