“Why?—To see you, of course,” Ruth said, her tone one of innocent surprise, but she felt a little guilty catch at her heart.
“Oh,—me!” her uncle said. “You young witch, you never crossed the seas to look at an old man. It was as much my business to cross them to look after you. Come,” said he, with a look of raillery, “there was some precipitating cause. You came in a hurry. Something happened—for you might have put your journey off for another year. Something occurred, to induce you—to come—in a hurry.”
Ruth hesitated. She gave a light laugh—then she looked away. “Shall I really tell you?” she asked.
“The sooner you tell me,” said the old General, “the better,—for then we'll understand one another.”
“I left Europe,”—Ruth said, embarrassed, “because—because—I wanted to see—my uncle—and have a look at my ancestral acres!” she still prevaricated, yet dimpling with amusement.
“Your ancestral acres!”—repeated her uncle, sceptically. “Well?” he encouraged.
“Oh—well—because,—if you must have another reason still, well—because—well—I felt sore.”
“Why?” said General Adgate.
“Why?” said Ruth with a persistent and feminine reluctance to reveal her real self, speak her true reasons: “Uncle,—I wish—you wouldn't ask me!”
“Out with it,” said her uncle.