And then he got up, and put Ruffie into his wheeled chair with very tender hands.
"I haven't changed," he said; "I must go and have a bath. No hunting to-morrow. If fine, Ruffie, I'll take you on your pony up the Fells to-morrow morning. We'll let the lessons go hang."
Some time later, when the children were in bed, Anstice came to her husband.
"You'll have to go and comfort poor Ruffie. He has got the idea that I am going to run off with you. You shouldn't joke with them so. They don't understand it."
"You run off with me? No, it will be the other way about, but I will go to him."
Ruffie's pillow was damp with tears.
"Dad, tell me on your gentleman's honour you won't take Steppie off! It's bad enough you going, but she belongs to us much more than to you! And when she's away, there's nobody to keep us merry and—comf'able. We couldn't live without her now, we really couldn't. You don't want her as we do."
"I don't know about that, my boy," said Justin, putting his hand on the golden curls. "Your Dad is undergoing a kind of upheaval, turning out of his heart some old rotten roots, and getting into a very topsy-turvy state of mind. I don't know that your song is quite true to life. How does it go?"
"Whatever they want, there is never a 'No.'"
"I've had a good many 'no's' in my life, and am likely to get some more, I foresee."