ardly spoken to her, and had talked mainly to Lady Hope-Acton, who was
somewhat depressed, and another elder lady. A good-night and a flat
candlestick can be presented in a very distant manner, and as Ruth
received hers from Charles that evening, and met the grave, steady
glance that was directed at her, she perceived that he had not forgiven
her for what she had said.

She felt angry again at the idea that he should venture to treat her
with a coldness which seemed to imply that she had been in the wrong.
The worst of it was that she felt she was to blame; that she had no
right whatever to criticise Charles and his actions. What concern were
they of hers? How much more suitable, how much more eloquent a dignified
silence would have been. She could not imagine now, as she thought it
over, why she had been so unreasonably annoyed at the moment as to say
what she had done. Yet the reason was not far to seek, if she had only
known where to lay her hand on it. She was uneasy, impatient; she longed
to get out of the house. And it was still early; only eleven. Eleven
till twelve. Twelve till one. One till half-past. Two whole hours and a
half to be got through before the Stoke Moreton omnibus would bear her
away. She looked round for a refuge during that weary age, and found it
nearer than many poor souls do in time of need, namely, at her elbow, in
the shape, the welcome shape of the shy man--almost the only remnant of
the large party whose dispersion she had just been watching. Whenever
Ruth thought of that shy man afterwards, which was not often, it was
with a sincere hope that he had forgotten the forwardness of her
behavior on that particular morning. She wished to see the
picture-gallery. She would of all things like a walk afterwards. No, she
had not been as far as the beech-avenue; but she would like to go.
Should they look at the pictures first--now--no time like the present?
How pleased he was! How proud! He felt that his shyness had gone
forever; that Miss Deyncourt would, no doubt, like to hear a few
anecdotes of his college life; that a quiet man, who does not make
himself cheap to start with, often wins in the end; that Miss Deyncourt
had unusual appreciation, not only for pictures, but for reserved and
intricate characters that yet (here he ventured on a little joke, and
laughed at it himself) had their lighter side. And in the long
picture-gallery Ruth and he studied the old masters, as they had seldom
been st