“Mr. Mostyn ought to give you your freedom.”
“I have given freedom to myself. I have already divorced him. When they brought my dead baby for me to kiss, I slipped into its little hand the ring that made me his mother. They went to the bottom of the sea together. As for ever marrying again, not in this life. I have had enough of it. My first husband was the sweetest saint out of heaven, and my second was some mean little demon that had sneaked his way out of hell; and I found both insupportable.” She lifted her hat as she spoke, and began to pin it on her beautifully dressed hair. “Have no fear for me,” she continued. “I am sure Basil watches over me. Some day I shall be good, and he will be happy.” Then, hand in hand, they walked to the door together, and there were tears in both voices as they softly said “Good-by.”
CHAPTER XII
A WEEK after this interview Tyrrel and Ethel were in New York. They landed early in the morning, but the Judge and Ruth were on the pier to meet them; and they breakfasted together at the fashionable hotel, where an elegant suite had been reserved for the residence of the Tyrrel-Rawdons until they had perfected their plans for the future. Tyrrel was boyishly excited, but Ethel’s interest could not leave her father and his new wife. These two had lived in the same home for fifteen years, and then they had married each other, and both of them looked fifteen years younger. The Judge was actually merry, and Ruth, in spite of her supposed “docility,” had quite reversed the situation. It was the Judge who was now docile, and even admiringly obedient to all Ruth’s wifely advices and admonitions.
The breakfast was a talkative, tardy one, but at length the Judge went to his office and Tyrrel had to go to the Custom House. Ethel was eager to see her grandmother, and she was sure the dear old lady was anxiously waiting her arrival. And Ruth was just as anxious for Ethel to visit her renovated home. She had the young wife’s delight in its beauty, and she wanted Ethel to admire it with her.
“We will dine with you to-morrow, Ruth,” said Ethel, “and I will come very early and see all the improvements. I feel sure the house is lovely, and I am glad father made you such a pretty nest. Nothing is too pretty for you, Ruth.” And there was no insincerity in this compliment. These two women knew and loved and trusted each other without a shadow of doubt or variableness.
So Ruth went to her home, and Ethel hastened to Gramercy Park. Madam was eagerly watching for her arrival.
“I have been impatient for a whole hour, all in a quiver, dearie,” she cried. “It is nearly noon.”
“I have been impatient also, Granny, but father and Ruth met us at the pier and stayed to breakfast with us, and you know how men talk and talk.”