"Vars," she repeated a little vaguely. "Oh, yes, I remember. There was, I believe, a Ruth Vars. Are you related?" Then as if she had forgotten it up to this time, she suddenly asked, "Won't you sit down?"
I thanked her and did so, she herself sinking into a voluminous tufted armchair opposite.
"I am Ruth Vars' sister," I explained, "and it is about Ruth and your son that I have come to talk with you."
Mrs. Sewall raised her brows.
"Your sister? My son? Really? How extraordinary!"
"Why, yes. You must know," I went on, "that your son is seeing a great deal of Ruth lately."
Mrs. Sewall smiled in a very patronising manner and replied, "It is very difficult for a mother to keep track of all a young man's fancies."
"This is more than a fancy, Mrs. Sewall. Ruth and your son are engaged to be married," I announced calmly.
A slight flush spread over Mrs. Sewall's face to the very roots of her marcel wave, but her voice showed no emotion when she spoke.
"Would it not have been more delicate to have allowed my son to have told me this piece of news," she asked me cuttingly.