They ascended the hill, over the softest, greenest turf; they went under the apple trees despoiled of apples,—passed through the rustic gate, and entered the garden. To the youth, the garden was all fragrant of blossoms which must have burst into flower over night. Such delusive things have a trick of happening, in New England, to an old garden, to welcome the desired person, and Ruth, though she didn't suspect it, had already become the desired person in the eyes of her victim. The syringa tree under which they went spread for them a miraculous white canopy; the white pinks threw forth aromatic scents which penetrated by the door into the house as Ruth brought her companion to General Adgate, seated before a rousing wood fire reading his newspapers in the drawing-room.
VII
Miss Adgate preceded her companion.
“Uncle,” she boldly proclaimed, “I've brought a friend of yours to luncheon.” General Adgate looked up from his book. “Why—Rutherford! glad to see you,” he said, shaking hands none too cordially. “So,” he smiled as he pushed a chair forward for Ruth, “my niece waylaid you, did she?”
“No,” Ruth told him. “I was waylaid by a serpent in our woods. Mr. Rutherford happened by at the right moment to rescue me.” Then Ruth went to the ancient gilt mirror above the fireplace and withdrew the pins from her hat and rang for Paolina.
“So you saved the lady's life,” General Adgate chuckled. “Well done, Rutherford, my son—a plausible opening to the story to please the matter-of-fact public. As though the public were matter-of-fact!—Nothing is really improbable enough for the public, provided life's in the telling. We're ready to swallow the most unconscionable lies! But though you've lost no time in making the opening ordinary, Rutherford, we shall see what may be done to reward you.”
“Oh,” objected Rutherford, with happy laughter,—“you of all men should know it—the service of Beauty brings its own reward to those lucky enough to serve it?”
“Lunch is served, Miss,” announced Martha patly, putting her head in at the door.
“Oh, a plate, please, Martha, for this gentleman,” said Ruth.
A shade (was it a look of displeasure?) crept into Martha's face; the reply came meekly. “Yes, Miss,” she answered—and disappeared.