“I thought you would still be here. Make a light, will you, Ruth; it is as pitchy as Hades, only that smouldering log looks purgatorial.”
Ruth lit the gas; and as she stood with upturned eyes adjusting the burner, her mother noticed that the heaviness had departed from her face. She sank into a rocker and took up the evening paper.
“What time is it, Ruth?”
“Twenty minutes to six,” she answered, glancing at the clock.
“As late as that?” She meant to say, “And Louis not home yet?” but forbore to mention his name.
“It is raining heavily now,” said Ruth, throwing a log upon the fire. Mrs. Levice unfolded the crackling newspaper, and Ruth moved over to the window to draw down the blinds. As she stood looking out with her hand on the chair, she saw the gate swing slowly open, and a messenger-boy came dawdling up the walk as if the sun were streaming full upon him.
Ruth stepped noiselessly out, meaning to anticipate his ring. A vague foreboding drove the blood from her lips as she stood waiting at the open hall-door. Seeing the streaming light, the boy managed to accelerate his snail’s pace.
“Miss Ruth Levice live here?” he asked, stopping in the doorway.
“Yes.” She took the packet he handed her. “Any charges or answers?” she asked.
“Nom,” answered the boy; and noticing her pallor and apprehension, “I’ll shet the door for you,” he added, laying his hand on the knob.