But Christina, the peace lover, was frightened. She tell tales of anybody! Least of all, of Melville and Paula!
The affair was really, as Octave had said, one of the slightest import; but because of their hesitation it grew to assume tremendous consequence in Ruth’s mind. There was evidently something they all wished to hide, and a very natural feeling of resentment filled her heart. Here, in her own home, over which, under the gentle supervision of her mother, she had reigned supreme during all her maiden life, she was flouted by a parcel of young creatures who had intruded upon her peace, uninvited, and unconscious, even, of that intrusion. They seemed so to take it for granted that she was as pleased to have them there as they had been to come! and she did not like it at all; she had only received them because her mother had said it was right.
“Well, if none will tell, then I will go and learn from Melville himself. He has faults enough, but he is not afraid to give an answer when it is demanded.”
With that, and with a motion which seemed to impart to the rustling gray gown which clothed her tall figure an air of great austerity, Ruth led the way to the cripple’s room. Scarcely knowing whether they were wanted or not, but with the natural curiosity of their age, the others followed in a body.
“Hello, Aunt Ruth! When did you come to town?” was Melville’s rather disrespectful salutation.
“I came home this afternoon. I am pleased to see thee in such fine spirits. I had heard that thee was in a ‘tantrum.’”
“Oh, I was, a little while ago; but Content has cured me. She’s a great pacifier of family strife, Aunt Ruth.”
“I know that,” replied the aunt, kissing with fervency the niece who had sprung to her side in glad surprise. “Our little Content is always right.”
“Scuse me, Aunt Ruthy, but she isn’t. She told a story one day.”
“O Fritzy, I think that could not be!”