“You are in earnest? You really mean it? Mollie, what has he come for? What has made him remember us after all these years? Has something happened that we know nothing about?”
“I can’t tell you. There’s only one thing certain,—he is very old and ill, and if he wants to see us at all there isn’t much time to spare. He is not at all like the Uncle Bernard mother remembers, but very cross and irritable, and his poor old face looks so miserable that it goes to your heart to see him. I wanted to put my arms round his neck and kiss him, but I would as soon have attempted to embrace a tiger. He snubbed me the whole time. Oh, talk of adventures! What an afternoon I have had!”
“If you met him walking across the park he can’t have any luggage, and if he hasn’t any luggage he can’t intend to sleep here to-night,” reasoned Ruth thoughtfully. “Perhaps he will just stay to dinner. Pea-soup, cold beef, and apple-pie—that’s all there is, and he is accustomed to half a dozen courses, and two men-servants to wait upon him. Poor dear mother will be in despair because she didn’t order a fresh joint for to-day. Shall I go to the kitchen and see if there is anything that can be made into a hot dish?”
Mollie pursed up her lips, but, before she had time to reply, the sound of footsteps was heard from without, and Mrs Connor appeared in the doorway, followed by the tall, gaunt figure of Uncle Bernard. The girls rose from their seats as he entered the room, and Ruth and Trix approached him with diffident smiles, while Mrs Connor introduced each by name.
“This is my eldest girl, Ruth; you saw her last when she was a baby in arms. This is Beatrice Connor; she knows you quite well by name, don’t you, Trix dear?”
But Mr Farrell betrayed not the faintest interest in Trix or her memories, and barely touched the hand which she extended towards him. All his attention seemed concentrated on Ruth, as she stood before him with her beautiful, flushed face raised to his own.
“This is Ruth!” he repeated slowly. “She is not at all like her sister. I am glad that one of your girls takes after her father’s family, Mary. This one is an unmistakable Farrell!”
Mollie turned aside with an expressive grimace.
“I’m cut out already,” she told herself. “Ruth’s black brows have walked straight into his affections! I might as well resign myself to play second fiddle forthwith.”
Mr Farrell accepted an invitation to stay for the family dinner, but it cannot truthfully be said that his presence added to the gaiety of the meal. Mrs Connor was nervous and ill at ease, regretting, as her daughter had foretold, that she had not ordered a hot joint for to-day, and allowed the cold meat to be used on the morrow.