“Sorry to disappoint you, but I shall be out of town at the end of next week.”
“Oh, dear? Honestly? Can’t you put it off? I want so much to go.”
“Impossible. Go with your father.”
“You know very well neither of us would go off and leave Mamma alone at night. It is horrid of you to go. I am sure you could manage differently if—”
“Why, my child!”
She was actually pouting; and her father’s quiet tone of surprised reprimand just headed off two great tears that threatened to fall.
“I know,” she said, trying to smile, and showing an April face instead; “but I had just set my heart on going, and with Louis too.”
“That comes of being a spoilt only child,” put in Arnold, suavely. “You ought to know by this time that of the many plans we make with ourselves, nine out of ten come to nought. Before you set your heart on a thing, be sure you will not have to give it up.”
Ruth, still sore with disappointment, acknowledged this philosophic remark with a curled lip.
“There, save your tears for something more worthy,” cut in Levice, briskly; “if you care so much about it, we or chance must arrange it as you wish.”