“She is of gentle birth,” said Mr. Fothersley. “Her mother, I gather, was a Courthope, and the Seers seem to be quite good people—Irish I believe—but of good blood. It always tells.”
“You never know which way,” said her Ladyship sagely. “Now look at my Uncle Marcus. Oh, there is Miss Seer. Yes—I really don’t think we need worry. It would be difficult to be rude to her. There, you see—dear Nita is being quite nice! And Roger is quite safe with Condor and the pigs.”
It was indeed late in the afternoon before North came upon Ruth, watching a set of tennis.
“You don’t play?” he asked.
“I never had the chance to learn any of the usual things,” she said, smiling. “I’m afraid I only came to-day with an ulterior motive. I want you to show me a photograph of Dick Carey.”
“That, oddly enough, was also in my mind,” he said, smiling too. “Come into my study and find it for yourself.”
He was conscious of a little pleasant excitement as they went, and also of a curious uncertainty as to whether he wanted the experiment to succeed or not.
Ruth went in front of him through the French window and stood for a while looking round her. She was not a slow woman, but nothing she did ever seemed hurried.
“What a delicious room!” she said. “And what a glory of books! And I do like the way you have your writing-table. How much better than across the window, and yet you get all the light. I may poke about?”
“Of course.”