“Luxury, thy name is sweet!” sighed Ruth, and went on with her work of gathering up loose ends.
“Where’s Helen?” asked Aunt Alvirah suddenly.
So quiet had the little old woman been, lost in the depths of the great chair, that Ruth and Tom had almost forgotten her presence in the room.
Now they both looked at her with the gentle consideration they always reserved for the frail old lady.
“Helen’s at home with Chess,” said Tom, with a grin. “Holding hands with him and sighing a last sad farewell.”
“It is right hard on Chess,” said Aunt Alvirah gently. “In my day young ladies didn’t keep their future husbands waiting around so long. It don’t—well, it don’t seem quite fair.”
Ruth guessed that this was meant as a gentle rebuke to her as well as to Helen. She flushed a little and bent still more intently over her work.
It was Tom who broke the rather awkward silence.
“Oh, Chess doesn’t blame her,” he said easily. “Thinks she ought to have all the fun coming to her before she has to settle down. His chief worry is that he can’t go along with us. Poor old Chess, he works too hard. Thing he needs is to chuck business for a time and take a good long vacation.”
“When a man is to be married it’s right he should work hard” said Aunt Alvirah, looking so prim and sweet that Tom got up and enfolded her in a bear hug.