"But where is she, Ruth? What has happened? Do tell me."
"She is in the workhouse, Ralph."
He sprang to his feet as though he had been shot.
"Ruth, you lie!" he said, almost in a whisper.
She began to sob again, and he stood looking at her with white, drawn face, and a fierce, passionate gleam in his eyes.
For several moments no other word passed between them. Then he sat down by her side again.
"There was no help for it," she sobbed at length. "And mother was quite content and eager to go."
"And you allowed it, Ruth," he said, in a tone of reproach.
"What could I do, Ralph?" she questioned plaintively. "We had spent all, and the landlord stopped us from selling any more furniture. The parish would allow her half a crown a week, which would not pay the rent, and I could get nothing to do."
He gulped down a lump that had risen in his throat, and clenched his hands, but he did not speak.