“Oh, thrilled, of course! So many interesting people come to see us that it’s difficult to choose between them. The piano-tuner, perhaps; or the gasman, to look at the meter.”
“I should have walked home with them, shouldn’t I, and given them tea in the study? A little higher in the social scale, please!”
“The curate calling for a subscription?”
“Cold; quite cold! Try again! Someone you have often wished to see, but who has never displayed any great anxiety to make your acquaintance in return.”
“Uncle Bernard, I presume?” said Ruth sarcastically, not for one moment believing the truth of her words, though her mind instantly reverted to the personage of that mythical uncle who had played so large a part in her mental life. She did not even trouble to look at Mollie as she spoke; but Trix did, and bounded to her feet in excitement.
“Is it—is it? Oh, Mollie, not really! He hasn’t really and truly appeared after all these years? You don’t seriously mean it? Look at her, Ruth! I believe it is true!”
Ruth looked, and flushed the loveliest of pinks. It seemed almost incredible that Trix was right, yet something very much out of the usual course of events must have happened to excite Mollie so keenly. Her cheeks were burning as though with a fever, the hand resting on the table was actually trembling. “Tell me, Mollie!” she pleaded; and Mollie nodded her head in triumph.
“Uncle Bernard himself! The real, genuine article sitting in solid flesh and blood in our very own study, and I’m the one who brought him here. What do you think of that for an adventure? I saw an aged, aged man a-leaning on a stick, as the poem says, and I went up and asked him if I could help him in any way. I once read about an old man whose nose suddenly began to bleed in an omnibus. He searched for a pocket-handkerchief, but had evidently forgotten to bring one, and the other passengers began to smile and titter, all except one girl, who opened her bag and presented him with a nice clean one of her own. The old man died soon afterwards, and left her a million pounds as a token of gratitude. I think it’s just as kind to escort a stranger through a lonely park when he has lost his way! If Uncle Bernard adopts me and gives me a million, I’ll treat you both to a nice new hat.—I asked where he was going, and he said to Number 7 Langton Terrace, and I looked at him. And, Ruth, do you know what I thought of? I thought of you! He had black eyebrows like yours, and he scowls, as you do (only when you are cross, dear, not when you’re in a good temper), and his lips droop like yours, too. I thought, ‘I have seen that face before!’ and then I remembered the photographs, and it burst upon me all in a moment. Then he asked me if I knew the Connors, and I said I’d known them for years, and the step-daughters, too, and that they were a charming family, but Mollie was the nicest of all.”
“Mollie, you didn’t!”
“I did! Why not? It’s true, isn’t it? When I revealed myself to him, however, he seemed to think that I was rather vain. I must leave it to time to prove the truth of my assertion.”