Martin, his footsteps rasping on gravel, overtook Ruth Callice just as she reached the terrace. Ricky had already hurried inside to see his mother. This terrace was only a broad stretch of flagstones, with four shallow flagstoned steps leading up to it Ruth hesitated at the top, and turned round at his call.
"Ruth!"
"Yes?"
He stood at the foot of the steps, looking up at her. Her softly rounded face had that clear-flesh tint he associated with youth and health. The dark-brown eyes were inquiring.
"Martin," she smiled, "you needn't apologize." Her expression grew whimsical. "I've been yelled at so often in my business career, especially by men, that I hardly notice it"
"I haven’t come to apologize, Ruth. For the first time since I’ve known you, I think you ought to be put over a convenient knee and walloped."
Ruth's colour receded to pallor, and slowly returned,
"I won't quarrel with you, Martin."
"As a second point of fact, I didn't yell at you."
"You were fairly audible, dear. And please remember only what I said. I merely reminded you of your promise. Whereupon you and Jenny and Dr. Laurier began arguing as to whether or not it was a good thing to go ghost-hunting. All I said in the whole discussion was: would you come and see John Stannard before you decided. Then you yelled at me."