Nothing is decided so far, except that I am to earn enough money to keep myself, and contribute largely to home expenses. That's the end, but the puzzle is to find out the means."

"Poor la.s.sie!" said Miss Maclure gently. She had a soft, Scotch burr in her voice, and her plain face was full of an almost motherly kindness as she looked at the pretty girl across the hearth. She had private means of her own, and her brother was a prosperous man; but she knew enough of the world to understand the nature of the struggle of which Ruth spoke so lightly.

"It's easier saying than doing, I'm afraid, dearie. There are so many women searching for work nowadays, and for many positions it is necessary to prepare by long and expensive training. We wanted a lady secretary for one of the societies in which I am interested, and we had hundreds of applicants who were expert typists and stenographers, and had all sorts of diplomas to show, but you have nothing of the kind."

"No, nor a penny to spend on training. I must be taken as I am, or not at all. Don't discourage me, Eleanor, please. Mollie runs the cold tap persistently at home, and I really need appreciation. There must be _something_ that I can do, if I set my wits to work. I am not going to be a nurse, Dr Maclure, so don't think that I am leading up to a request that you should get me into a hospital. I don't like sick people unless they are my very own, and it would be almost as dull to be shut up in a hospital as to remain at home."

Miss Maclure looked a trifle shocked at this candid confession, but her brother laughed, and said approvingly--

"That's right! I admire your honesty. We have far too many nurses who take up the work without any real fitness, and I should be sorry to see you added to the number. Well, let me see! ... After hospital nursing, the next most popular resort is to turn author and write a novel. Have you any leaning in that direction?"

He looked across at Ruth with a humorous twitching of his clean-shaven lips. Once again she felt conscious that the Maclures looked upon her as a pretty child, to be petted and humoured rather than a serious woman of the world, and once again the knowledge brought with it a feeling of rest and comfort.

She crinkled her brows and smiled back at the doctor, answering frankly--

"Oh yes, plenty of leanings! I should love to write, and Mollie and I are always 'imagining' to make life more lively and exciting; but, when it comes to sitting down with a pen in my hand, my thoughts seem to take wing and fly away, and the words won't come. They are all stiff and formal, and won't express what I want. Mollie gets on better, for she writes as she talks, so it's natural at least. She wrote quite a long story once, and read it aloud to me as she went on, but it was never finished, and I don't think for a moment that any paper would have looked at it. The people were all lords and dukes and millionaires, and we don't know even a knight. I expect it was full of mistakes."

Dr Maclure smiled and rose from his seat.

"Well, I have some letters to write, so I will leave you to have your talk with Eleanor; but I am starting off again on my rounds in half an hour, and shall be driving past your house. It is a disagreeable evening. Will you let me give you a lift?"

Ruth consented eagerly. The blue serge coat felt none too warm in the bleak east wind, and it would be a relief to be spared the chilly walk, and be bowled along instead in the doctor's luxurious brougham. She drew her chair nearer to the fire, and proceeded to confide various whys and wherefores to the sympathetic Eleanor--sympathetic, but hardly responsive this afternoon for some mysterious reason. The while Ruth set forward one idea after another, Miss Maclure sat gazing at her with an intent, questioning gaze, as though too much occupied with her own thoughts to grasp the meaning of the conversation. Ruth felt chilled and disappointed, for during the last few days the constant thought in the background of her mind had been, "Eleanor will advise me! Eleanor will know what to do!"

Miss Maclure was a busy woman, whose name figured in a dozen committees.

She knew everyone, went everywhere, and her word had weight in guilds, societies, and a.s.sociations. What could be more easy than for her to find a pleasant and lucrative berth for a pet girl friend, and settle her in it without delay? Ruth had already imagined a touching scene wherein she had been introduced to her future sphere of work, while those in authority overpowered Miss Maclure with thanks for helping them to find the ideal person to fill the vacant post. But Eleanor said nothing, suggested nothing, only sat staring with those grave, questioning eyes!

It was almost a relief when the half-hour was over, and the doctor gave the summons for departure. Then Eleanor came back to the present once more, and was all that was kind and loving.

"Have you no wraps with you, dear? Is that all you have on?" she asked, as the girl b.u.t.toned her thin coat and pulled the scarf higher round her throat; and Ruth answered "Yes," in an irresponsive tone, which effectually put a stop to further remarks. She might speak of her own poverty, but not even Eleanor Maclure herself could be allowed to pity, or offer to supply a want. That was Miss Ruth's idea of proper pride, and she straightened her back, and held her head higher than ever as she crossed the hall and took her seat in the carriage.

Such a luxurious brougham it was, with its well-cushioned seats, its electric reading-lamp attached to the wall, its rack for books and papers, and cosy fur rug! Ruth tucked the rug securely in position, and, looking up, caught the reflection of her face in the strip of mirror opposite. The blue serge toque sat so jauntily on her head that it looked quite smart; the pink tie was undoubtedly becoming. Well, it was a comfort to be pretty, at least! To have been poor and plain would have been quite too depressing. She smiled back in approving fashion, to feel somewhat disconcerted a moment later as the mirror reflected Donald Maclure's face beside her own. He was staring at her with the same intent questioning which she had noticed in Eleanor's eyes, and surely he looked paler, older, more haggard than usual! She turned towards him, warmed into increased friendship by the presentiment that he was in trouble like herself.

"It's so good of you to take me home, Dr Maclure! It may seem curious to you, but it's quite a treat to me to drive about in this comfy carriage. I so seldom travel in anything but shaky omnibuses. I should not object to being a lady doctor, if I could have a brougham like this of my very own. There! We never thought of that when we were discussing my possible fields of labour!"

Dr Maclure bent forward, and glanced out of the window. His horse was travelling quickly to-night; in another ten minutes Mr Connor's house would be reached, and his opportunity over. He turned to face his companion, and said quietly--

"There is another possibility open to you, Ruth, which you have perhaps not considered. Have you ever thought of it, I wonder? Can you guess what I mean?"

The grey eyes stared into his in frankest bewilderment.

"No," cried Ruth--"no! What is it? Something nice? Tell me what it is."

"You have never guessed that I love you; that I have loved you for years, since you were a girl at school? You have never once guessed it all this time?"

He read his answer in the blank face and startled eyes, for Ruth was too utterly taken aback to feel the usual embarra.s.sment. She sat perfectly still, gazing not at him but at the reflection of his face in the mirror opposite. Dr Maclure! Was she dreaming, or was it really his voice which she heard uttering these extraordinary words? Dr Maclure loved her--had loved her for years! It was too inconceivable to be grasped!

He asked if she had not guessed his secret, but Ruth had not thought of him at all; he had not entered into her calculations except as "Eleanor's brother"--a nonent.i.ty who might be agreeable or the reverse, according as he drove her home on wet evenings, or interrupted a cosy _tete-a-tete_.

She did not reply to the question in words; but he was answered all the same, for she heard him sigh, and saw a quiver pa.s.s across the thin face.

"I am too old, Ruth--is that it? You never thought of me as a possible lover?"

"Oh no, never once! You always seemed so busy and occupied, and you have Eleanor to look after you. You have always been very kind to me, but you were kind to Mollie and Trix and Betty as well. I did not feel that you treated me differently from them. You are so clever; and you saw yourself, when we talked this afternoon, I can do nothing.--I don't see how you can possibly like me."

"Don't you?" he asked quietly. "But I do, Ruth; I care more than I can express. I have not spoken before, for you seemed too young. I should not have spoken to-day if you had not told us of this new move. You don't know how hard it is for a girl to go out into the world and earn her living; but I do, and I should like to save you from it, if it can be done. I could give you a comfortable home, and enough money to make life easy and pleasant. It would be my best happiness to see you happy.

We could travel; you would be able to help Mollie and the rest. If you married me, your people would be my people, and I should be as anxious as yourself to let them share our good fortune; and I would love you very dearly, Ruth! I seem old to you, perhaps, but my love would be more proved and certain than if I were a boy of your own age. I am a prosperous man, but I want something more from life than I have had so far--something that you alone can give roe. You hold my key to happiness, Ruth!"

Ruth drew back into the corner of the carriage and turned her face into the shadow. She wanted to think. What an extraordinary change in the outlook at life to have happened in a few brief moments! Dr Maclure's wife! Here was an answer indeed to the question which had been occupying her thoughts for the last few weeks!

Suppose--suppose, just for one moment, that she said yes? Suppose that on getting home she walked into the dining-room and announced her engagement to a prosperous and charming man, who was already a family friend and favourite? What fun! What excitement! What pride on the part of the little mother; what transparent relief to the overtaxed pater! Mollie and Trix would begin at once to discuss bridesmaids'

dresses, and there would be a trousseau to buy, and all the bustle and excitement of a first marriage in a family. And afterwards? A big, handsomely appointed house, pretty clothes, lots of money, the power to help those whom she loved...

It sounded good--very good indeed! Much more attractive than those nursery governess and companion schemes which she dreaded, despite all her resolutions. It would be delightful to be her own mistress, and do just as she liked...

And then a thought occurred. What of Eleanor? Ruth recalled the intent gaze which had mystified her so much during the afternoon, and felt convinced that Miss Maclure had guessed her brother's secret. What was her feeling in the matter? Was she jealous of a rival in her brother's affections, or loyally anxious for his happiness, regardless of how her own future might be affected? A spasm of curiosity found voice in a sudden question--

"But there is Eleanor. If you married, what would become of her?"

"There would be no difficulty about that. When we took up house together we made a solemn agreement that if either wished to marry in the future the other should not hinder in any possible way. Eleanor has her own income, and many interests in life to keep her happy and occupied. She would live near us, I hope, but you should be entire mistress of your home, Ruth."

He evidently thought she had looked upon his sister's presence in the house as a hindrance to her happiness, but, in truth, Ruth felt a chilly sinking of heart at his reply. The thought of the big house was not half so attractive, shorn of the figure of the sympathetic friend. The library with no Eleanor sitting writing at her desk; the drawing-room with no Eleanor in the deep-cushioned chair; the dining-room with no Eleanor at the head of the table--how blank it all seemed! How dreadfully dull to be alone all day, with only the doctor to break the monotony! Only the doctor! The blood rushed in a flood to Ruth's cheeks as she realised the significance of that one word. She turned impetuously towards her companion, and gripped his arm with nervous pressure.

"Don't tempt me!" she cried earnestly--"don't tempt me! There are so many things that I should like, and I keep thinking of them, when I should think only of you.--I'd love to be rich, and have a nice house, and play Lady Bountiful at home! I'd love to travel about and see the world, instead of jogging along in one little rut; and, really and truly, I dread turning out to work, and am a coward at heart--but,-- that's all! I have always liked you very much as a friend, but I can't imagine ever feeling any different. When I was thinking over things just now, I--don't be angry! I don't want to hurt you, only to be quite, quite honest--I thought more of Eleanor than of you! I hardly thought of you at all."

The doctor's thin face looked very drawn and pained, but he smiled in response to her pleading glance.

"I'm not angry, dear. Why should I be? It is not your fault that you do not care, and it is best for us both to know the truth. I feared it might be so. I am too old and staid to attract a bright young girl, but I even now cannot bring myself to regret my love. It has given me the happiest hours of my life, and I hope you will always let me help you in any way that is possible. I think you owe me that privilege, don't you, Ruth?"

"Oh, I do--I do! If it is any pleasure to you, I promise faithfully to come to you whenever I need a friend, and I should like you to help me.

That means a great deal, for I am horribly proud. There are very few people from whom I can accept a favour."

He smiled again, but with an evident effort, and Ruth, peeping at his averted profile, felt a pang of real personal suffering at the sight of his pain. It seemed dreadful that she should have such power to affect this strong man; to take the light out of his face and make it old and worn and grey!

The carriage was nearing home; in a few minutes' time the drive would be over, and she would have no chance of continuing the conversation. With a sudden swelling of the heart she realised that she could not part without another expression of regret.

"I am so sorry, so dreadfully sorry to have grieved you! But you would not like me to marry you just for what you could give me; you would not have been satisfied with that, would you, Dr Maclure?"

His eyes met hers with a flash of determination.

"No," he cried--unhesitatingly--"never! I want a wife who loves me, or no wife at all! One never knows what lies ahead in this world, and if dark days come I should like to feel that she cared for me more, rather than less. It would be hard for us both if she valued only my possessions, and they took to themselves wings and fled. And there is your own future to consider. Love will come to you some day, and you must be free to welcome him. Don't distress yourself about me, Ruth; I have my work for consolation. Before I get home to-night I shall have seen so much suffering that I shall be ashamed to nurse my own trouble."

"Yes," said Ruth faintly.

His words seemed to place her at an immense distance, as if already he had accepted his burden and put it resolutely out of sight. She felt chilled and humiliated, for in the depths of her heart she knew that if Dr Maclure had been persistent in his request, and had condescended to "tempt" her, to use her own expressive phrase, she would very probably have succ.u.mbed to the temptation, however much she might have regretted her decision later on. But Donald would have none of her; he wanted a wife who cared for himself, and not for his possessions. Ruth felt almost as if it were she herself who had been refused. It was not an agreeable sensation to experience after a first proposal.

CHAPTER FOUR.

A MEETING.