“Aunty,” said Ruth, “now that you've come home and everything is going on nicely, I think I'd better go back to the city. You see, if I stay here, I'll be interrupting the honeymoon.”
“No, no, Niece Ruth!” exclaimed Mr. Ball, “you ain't interruptin' no honeymoon. It's a great pleasure to your aunt and me to hev you here—we likes pretty young things around us, and as long as we hev a home, you're welcome to stay in it; ain't she Jane?”
“She has sense enough to see, James, that she is interruptin' the honeymoon,” replied Aunt Jane, somewhat harshly. “On account of her mother havin' been a Hathaway before marriage, she knows things. Not but what you can come some other time, Ruth,” she added, with belated hospitality.
“Thank you, Aunty, I will. I'll stay just a day or two longer, if you don't mind—just until Mr. Winfield comes back. I don't know just where to write to him.”
“Mr.—who?” demanded Aunt Jane, looking at her narrowly.
“Mr. Carl Winfield,” said Ruth, crimsoning—“the man I am going to marry.” The piercing eyes were still fixed upon her.
“Now about the letters, Aunty,” she went on, in confusion, “you could help Uncle James with the book much better than I could. Of course it would have to be done under your supervision.”
Mrs. Ball scrutinized her niece long and carefully. “You appear to be tellin' the truth,” she said. “Who would best print it?”
“I think it would be better for you to handle it yourself, Aunty, and then you and Uncle James would have all the profits. If you let some one else publish it and sell it, you'd have only ten per cent, and even then, you might have to pay part of the expenses.”
“How much does it cost to print a book?”