“Uncle,” she replied earnestly, “in my life such things are not trivial; perhaps because my life is narrower. I know you and Ruth take a different view of everything.”
“Don’t disparage yourself; people generally do that to be contradicted or to show that they know their weaknesses and have never cared to change them. A woman of your intelligence need never sink to the level of a spiteful chatterbox; every one should keep his tongue sheathed, for it is more deadly than a sword. Your higher interests should make you overlook every little action of your neighbors. You only see or hear what takes place when the window is open; you can never judge from this what takes place when the window is shut. How are the children?”
By dint of great tenderness he strove to make her more at ease.
Ruth, confronted with their knowledge, confessed, with flushed cheeks and glowing eyes, her contretemps.
“And,” she said in conclusion, “Father, Mamma, nothing you can say will make me retract anything I have done or purpose doing.”
“Nothing?” repeated her father.
“I hope you won’t ask me to, but that is my decision.”
“My darling, I dislike to hear you call yourself a mule,” said her father, looking at her with something softer than disapproval; “but in this case I shall not use the whip to turn you from your purpose. Eh, Esther?”
“It is Quixotic,” affirmed Mrs. Levice; “but since you have gone so far, there is no reasonable way of getting out of it. When next I see the doctor, I shall speak to him of it.”
“There will be no occasion, dear,” remonstrated the indulgent father, at sight of the annoyed flash in Ruth’s eyes; “I shall.”