“Unworthy!” cried Jack. “Did I ever call him unworthy? It depends upon what you mean. He gambles. He has terrific passions; but he's a man through and through, and he's clean and honourable.”
“Ah,” said Ruthven, drawing a deep breath, “then would to Heaven she could find him! For this fretting is like a fever in her bones.”
“At present, we can only wait for an answer to her letter.”
And so they waited, each one of the little group vying with the other in providing interest and amusement for the weary, restless, fevered girl. Often, at the first, the old impatience would break out, mostly in her talk with Charrington, at rare times to her hostess, too, but at such times followed by quick penitence.
“Dear Lady Ruthven,” she said one day after one of her little outbreaks, “I wish I were like you. You are so sweetly good and so perfectly self-controlled. Even I cannot wear out your patience. You must have been born good and sweet.”
For a few moments Lady Ruthven was silent, her mind going back swiftly to long gone years. “No, dear,” she said gently; “I have much to be thankful for. It was a hard lesson and slowly learned, but He was patient and bore long with me. And He is still bearing.”
“Tell me how you learned,” asked Iola timidly, and then Lady Ruthven told her life story, without tears, without repinings, while Iola wondered. That story Iola never forgot, and the influence of it never departed from her. Never were the days quite so bad again, but every day while she struggled to subdue her impatience even in thought, she kept looking for word from across the sea with a longing so intense that all in the house came to share it with her.
“Oh! if we only knew where to get him!” groaned Jack Charrington to her one day, for to Jack, who was the only link with her happy past, she had opened her heart. “Why does he keep away?” he added bitterly.
“It is my fault, Jack,” she replied. “He is not to blame. No one is to blame but me. But he will come some day. I feel sure he will come, I only hope he may be in time. He would greatly grieve if—”
“Hush, Iola. Don't say it. I can't bear to have you say it. You are getting better. Why, you walked out yesterday quite smartly.”