“Perhaps,” said the man, abstractedly, still gazing in that delicate young face, as if searching its features, one by one.
“She knew all my poor father’s friends,” said Ruth, embarrassed by the silence.
“Ah, yes! I should like to see your mother.”
Ruth lifted her voice a little, and called out:
“Mother! Mother!”
“Well, I must be going. It’s so long since I went out, and they’ll miss me at the store,” said little James, who had waited in silence for something strange to happen; for this advent of a stranger seemed full of importance to him. “Good-bye, Ruthy; good-bye, sir! I’m off.”
As James ran down the front yard, Mrs. Laurence came into the little parlor, untying the apron in which she had been working as she came in. Mr. Ross started, and turning in his chair, regarded her with a sharp, scrutinizing look, which deepened into an expression of keen disappointment.
“This is my mother,” said Ruth, bending her head, while Mrs. Laurence paused to fling her apron back into the kitchen, when she saw a stranger in the room.
Ross arose, and stood a moment, waiting for Mrs. Laurence to advance; for, though everything was humble, and even poverty-stricken around them, he felt that these women were naturally far above the level of their appearance.
“I have intruded, Madam, perhaps rudely,” he said, at last; “but having met one of your children by accident, her resemblance to one—to an old friend—was so striking, that I ventured to inquire about her here.”