“Suppose I go and help her mope,” Judge Burnham said, rising in the midst of a flow of words, and speedily making his way behind the red curtains.
He came over to Ruth, holding out both hands to greet her.
“How do you do?” he said, and there was tender inquiry in the tone. “You didn’t know I was in town, did you? I came two days sooner than I had hoped.”
“I didn’t know you were out of town,” said Ruth. “I thought you had deserted us like the rest of our friends.”
“So you didn’t get my note?” he asked, looking blank. “Well, never mind; it was merely an explanation of an absence which I hoped you might notice. Mrs. Erskine says you are moping, Ruth. Is it true? She says you need a change and something to rest you up. I wish you would let me give you a change. Don’t you think you could?”
“A change!” Ruth repeated, with a little laugh, and there was color enough in her cheeks just then.
“Why should I need a change? What do you mean?”
“I mean a great deal. I want to give you such a change as will affect all your future life and mine. I would like to have you change name and home. Oh, Ruth, I would like to devote my life to the business of ‘resting you up.’ Don’t you believe I can do it?”
Now, I am sure there is no need for me to give you Ruth Erskine’s answer. You probably understand what it was. Unless I am mistaken, you understand her better than she did herself. Up to this very moment she actually had not realized what made up the bulk of her unrest this week. No, not the bulk either; there were graver questions even than this one which might well disturb her, but she had not understood her own footing with Judge Burnham, nor had scarcely a conception of his feelings toward her.
The low murmur of talk went on, after a little, behind the red curtains, and continued long after Judge Erskine and his wife went up-stairs. Just as he was turning out the gas in their dressing-room, that gentleman said: