CHAPTER XIV.
AN ADVENTURE.
Gerald was less known to his cousin than any other member of the family, for he spent very little time in her society. He usually rose late, and after a hasty breakfast hurried away to the office whither his father had already gone. The girls did not see him again until six o'clock when he returned to dinner, frequently going out directly it was over to spend the evening with his friends.
Yet, although Ruth saw but little of him, that little astonished her. She could never forget that he was only a year or two older than Will. A year or two made a great difference, she knew, but could Will ever become such a well-dressed fashionable young man, who grumbled at his mother if the dinner was not to his mind, scolded the servants, and argued and talked to his father just as if he were a man of his own age?
Ruth thought not, and hoped not.
The short November days were cold and dreary, school duties seemed to increase, and the girls were beginning to talk of the coming examinations, and to look forward to the Christmas holidays and festivities.
In spite of hard work Ruth found it a difficult matter to do all her lessons thoroughly, and although she was strong and healthy and not easily fatigued, the effort was beginning to tell upon her.
One fine Wednesday her aunt persuaded her to take a holiday. The rest was very pleasant, but she had a certain amount of work to finish by the end of the week, and sat up rather late the next night over her French translation. She was obliged to give up at last, and went to bed quite dissatisfied with her evening's work. But when she laid her head upon the pillow sleep quite forsook her. She tossed and turned, but all in vain, sleep would not come; her mind was full of the paragraph she had been endeavouring to translate, and she felt sure that she could do it much better, if only it were not so late.
Might she not scribble down a few of the sentences which had puzzled her, but were now quite clear? Of course her aunt would not like it, but then she need never know. It could not be any worse to write than to lie in bed and think, she argued, and it would be such a relief to get it done.