Mrs Dene’s face became a cheerful blank. “Yes, there is more,” she said. A pause.
“Mamma,” began Ruth, “do you think Griffins desirable as mothers?”
“Very, for bad children!” Mrs Dene relapsed into a pleasant reverie. Ruth looked at her mother as a kitten does in a game of tag when the old cat has retired somewhere out of reach and sits up smiling through the barrier.
“You find her sadly changed!” she said to Gethryn, in that silvery, mocking tone which she had inherited from her mother.
“On the contrary, I find her the same adorable gossip she always was. Whatever is in that letter, she is simply dying to tell us all about it.”
“Suppose we try not speaking, and see how long she can stand that?”
Rex laid his repeater on the table. Two pairs of laughing eyes watched the dear little old lady. At the end of three minutes she raised her own; blue, sweet, running over with fun and kindness.
“The colonel has a polite invitation from the duke for himself, and his party, to shoot on the Red Peak.”
CHAPTER XIII.
In July the sun is still an early riser, but long before he was up next day a succession of raps on the door woke Gethryn, and a voice outside inquired, “Are you going fishing with me today, you lazy beggar?”