"Sit down, mother," Ruth commanded. She must get this over, and soon, for it was straining at her heart. "Sit down and listen to what I have to tell. Afterwards you shall get me something to eat; and while you are dishing it—dear mother, you were always briskest about the fireplace—we will talk in the old style."
"Surely, surely." Mrs. Josselin seated herself on the block-stool.
"You remember the promise? In three years—and yesterday the three years were up—I was to come back and report myself."
"Is it three years, now? Time do slip away!"
"The gel's right," corroborated old Josselin, pausing as he filled a pipe. "I remember it."
"This is what I have to report—Sir Oliver has asked me to marry him."
There was a pause. "I dunno," said the old man sourly—and Ruth knew that tone so well! He always used it on hearing good news, lest he should be mistaken for genial—"I dunno why you couldn' ha' told us that straight off, without beatin' round the bush. It's important enough."
"He has asked me to marry him, and I have said 'yes.'"
"What else could ye say?"
"Of course she said 'yes,' the darling!" Mrs. Josselin clapped her hands together, without noise. "What did I ever say but that 'twas a chance, if you used it? But when is it to be?" she added, suspiciously.