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CHAPTER XXXIII.
A CHEERFUL DOCTOR

There was an apartment in Aaron Cohen's house which was called the cozy room, where the family were in the habit of sitting when they had no visitors, and it was here that their real domestic happiness reigned. Here Aaron used to smoke his old silver-mounted pipe, and chat with his wife, and indulge in his entertaining pleasantries when he was in the humor, and here the feeling used to steal over him that life would hold more joy for him and those dear to him if they dwelt in a smaller house and his doings were less under the public eye.

"I am convinced," he would say, "that those who are in the lower middle class are the best off. They have fewer cares, they have more time for domestic enjoyment, they can attend without hindrance to their own affairs. There is no happiness in riches. Why do I continue to wish to accumulate more money?"

"Because," Rachel would answer affectionately, "It enables you to contribute to the happiness of others. But I should be as contented if we were poor."

On the occasion of Mr. Dillworthy's visit to Aaron a scene of a different nature was being enacted in the cozy room. Rachel was overpowered with languor, and she fell into a doze. The apartment was large, but an arrangement of screens and the disposal of the furniture made it look small; domestically speaking, there is no comfort in any but a small room.

Rose during her present visit had noticed with concern that Mrs. Cohen appeared weak, and that her movements, which were always gentle, were more so than usual, and that her quiet ways seemed to be the result of physical prostration. She spoke of it to Rachel, who confessed that she had not felt strong lately, but cautioned Rose to say nothing of it to Aaron.

"He is so easily alarmed about me," she said, "and he has great anxieties upon him."

"But you should see the doctor," urged Rose solicitously.

"I will wait a day or two," answered Rachel, and again enjoined Rose not to alarm her husband.

On the evening of this exciting day she looked so pale and fatigued that she yielded to Rose's solicitations, and without Aaron's knowledge sent for the physician who was in the habit of attending her. While waiting for him she fell asleep in her armchair in the cozy room. At her request Rose played softly some of Rachel's favorite pieces. The piano was behind a screen at one end of the room, and Rose did not know that she had fallen asleep. While thus employed Prissy quietly entered the room. The faithful woman looked at her mistress, and stepped noiselessly to the screen.

"Miss Rose," she whispered.

The girl stopped playing immediately, and came from behind the screen.

"Is it the doctor, Prissy?" she asked.

"No, miss."

Prissy pointed to her mistress, and Rose went to the armchair, and adjusted a light shawl which was falling from the sleeping lady's shoulder. It was a slight action, but it was done with so much tenderness that Prissy smiled approvingly. She liked Rose much better than Ruth, who did not hold in her affections the place the other members of the family did. Humble as was her position in the household, she had observed things of which she disapproved.

Ruth was from home more frequently than she considered proper, and had often said to her: "You need not tell my mother that I have gone out unless she asks you."

Prissy had not disobeyed her, and the consequence was that Ruth was sometimes absent from the house for hours without her father or mother being aware of it. Prissy's idea was that her young mistress would bring trouble on the house, but she kept silence, because she would otherwise have got into trouble herself with Ruth, and would also have distressed her dear lady if she had made mention of her suspicions, for which she could have offered no reasonable explanation. Prissy's distress of mind was not lessened because Ruth, when she enjoined secrecy upon her, gave her money, as if to purchase her silence. She would have refused these bribes, but Ruth forced them upon her, and she felt as if she were in a conspiracy to destroy the peace of the family.

"I did not know she was asleep," said Rose, coming back to Prissy.

"I'm sure you didn't, miss. She falls off, you know."

"Yes, I know," said Rose with affectionate solicitude. "What do you want, Prissy?"

"I've got a letter for you, miss."

"I didn't hear the postman."

"The postman didn't bring it, miss," said Prissy, giving her the letter. "A boy. Said immejiet."

"It must be from-no." She was thinking of her lover as she looked at the letter, but she saw it was not his hand. She recognized the writing-it was Ruth's. "The envelope is not very clean, Prissy."

"So I told the boy when he brought it to the back door."

"The back door!" exclaimed Rose, rather bewildered.

"It's curious, isn't it, miss, that it wasn't sent by post?"

"Yes, it is. What did the boy say?"

"It's what I said first, miss. 'You've been and dropped it in the gutter,' I said. But he only laughed and said it was give to him this morning, and that he was to bring it to the servants' entrance and ask for Prissy."

"But why didn't he deliver it this morning?" asked Rose, her bewilderment growing.

"I don't know, miss. He's been playing in the streets all day, I expect. Anyway he said I was to give it you when nobody was looking. It's Miss Ruth's writing, miss."

Rose made no remark upon this, but asked: "Did he say who gave it to him?"

"A young lady he said, miss."

"That will do, Prissy."

"Can I do anything for you, miss?

"Nothing, thank you."

Prissy gone, Rose looked at the envelope, and saw written in one corner, "Read this when you are alone." Troubled and perplexed, she stood with the letter in her hand, but when the door was opened again and the doctor was announced she put it hastily into her pocket and went forward to meet him.

Dr. Roberts had attended Rachel for some years past, and took the deepest interest in her.

"Sleeping," he said, stepping to her side. He turned to Rose, and questioning her, learned why he had been sent for.

"She falls asleep," he said, with his fingers on Rachel's pulse. "Ah, you are awake," as Rachel sat upright. "Now let us see what is the matter. You are not in pain? No. That's good."

"It is only because Rose was so anxious," said Rachel. "There is really nothing the matter with me, doctor."

"But you feel weak and drowsy at times. We will soon set that right."

Dr. Roberts was one of those cheerful physicians whose bright ways always brightened his patients. "Make the best of a case," was a favorite saying of his, "not the worst."

He remained with Rachel a quarter of an hour, advised her to get to bed, gave her instructions as to food, ordered her a tonic, and took his leave. Rose went with him into the passage.

"There is no danger, doctor?"

"Not the slightest, my dear," he answered in a fatherly manner. "But I would advise perfect rest. Don't tell her anything exciting. She must not be worried. Get a humorous story, and read it to her. Make her laugh. Let everything be bright and cheerful about her. But I need not say that. It always is, eh? If you have any troubles keep them to yourself. But what troubles should a young girl like you have?"

He met Aaron at the street door.

"Ah, Mr. Cohen, I have been to see your wife-in a friendly way."

"She is not ill?" asked Aaron in an anxious tone, stepping back.

"No-a little weak, that is all. Don't go up to see her; I have just left her, and she will think there is something the matter, when there's nothing that cannot be set right in a few days. She wants tone, that is all, and rest, and perfect freedom from excitement. That is essential. Such a day as this, flattering and pleasant as it must have been, is not good for her. Keep her mind at rest, let her hear nothing to disturb her, speak of none but cheerful subjects to her, and she will be herself again in a week. Follow my advice, and there is not the least cause for anxiety."

CHAPTER XXXIV.
RUTH'S SECRET

Dr. Roberts' hearty and confident tone carried conviction with it. Aaron's anxiety was dispelled; easier in his mind respecting Rachel's health, he felt like a man reprieved. A few days were still left for reflection, and he went forth to his public duties with a sense of great relief.

Rose, meanwhile, was busy for some time attending to Rachel, who wished the young girl to remain with her till she was asleep. With Ruth's letter in her pocket, which had been delivered almost clandestinely at the house, and which she was enjoined to read when she was alone, she was compelled to bridle her impatience. She did not dare to speak of it to Rachel, and the course the conversation took in the bedroom did not tend to compose her. Rachel spoke only of family matters-of her husband and her children-in which category she included Rose. Presently the conversation drifted entirely to the subject of Ruth.

"Young girls," said Rachel, "confide in each other. There is a true affection between you, is there not, my dear?"

"Yes," replied Rose, wondering what was coming, and dreading it.

"It happens sometimes," continued Rachel, with a sigh, "that parents do not entirely win their children's confidence. Joseph has not a secret from me. He is happy. Do you think Ruth is quite happy, my dear?"

"I think so," said Rose.

"I am not asking you to break a confidence she may have reposed in you."

Rose could not refrain from interrupting her.

"But, dear mother, I know nothing."

As she uttered the words a guilty feeling stole over her. What did the letter in her pocket contain?

Rachel drew the girl's face to hers, and caressed her.

"Now it is you," she said, "who are speaking as if you are in trouble. I am very inconsiderate, but love has its pains as well as its joys. You have no trouble, Rose?"

"None, dear mother. I am perfectly happy."

"See how mistaken I am; and I hope I am mistaken also about Ruth. I feared that she had a secret which she was concealing from me. Blind people are suspicious, Rose, and breed trouble for themselves and others."

"Not you, dear mother," said Rose, kissing her. "Now you must go to sleep. This is quite against the doctor's orders."

Rachel smiled and yielded; she took pleasure in being led by those she loved.

In the solitude of her chamber Rose read the letter:

"Darling Rose: I am in great trouble, and you must help me. You are the only friend I have in the world-but no, I must not say that; it is not true. What I mean is, you are the only friend at home I can trust.

"Father and mother, and you, too, think I am in Portsmouth with your family. Dear Rose, I am in London-I have been in London all the week. The happiness of my life is in your hands-remember that.

"I went down to Portsmouth, but I only stayed two days. I told your father I had to pay a visit to other friends, and he believed me. And now I hear he is in London and, of course, will come to the house. He is the only person you must tell; you must beg him not to say a word about my going from Portsmouth; you must make him promise; you don't know what depends upon it. Speak to him quietly, and say he must not betray me; he will do anything for you.

"Dear, darling Rose, I have a secret that I cannot disclose yet. I will soon, perhaps to-morrow, perhaps in a week-I cannot fix a time, because it does not depend upon me. But remember my happiness is in your hands. Your loving

"Ruth."

The young girl was bewildered and distressed by this communication. They had all believed that Ruth was on a visit to Rose's family, and Rose had received letters from her with the Portsmouth postmark on them. It was true that Ruth had asked her, as a particular favor, not to reply to the letters, and though Rose considered it a strange request, she had complied with it. Ruth's stronger will always prevailed with her. But what did it all mean? If Ruth had been in London a week where was she stopping? Rose's character could hardly as yet be said to be formed; it was sweet, but it lacked decision, and she looked helplessly round as if for guidance. She was glad when Prissy knocked at her door and said that her father was downstairs. Part of the responsibility seemed to be already lifted from her shoulders.

"Prissy," she said before she went down, "you haven't spoken to anyone about the letter?"

"No, miss."

"Don't say anything about it, please. Mrs. Cohen is not well, and the doctor is very particular that she shall not be bothered or worried.

"I won't say anything, miss."

She shook her head gravely as Rose tripped downstairs and muttered:

"Trouble's coming-or my name aint what it is."

"I am so glad you are here, father," said Rose; "I have something to tell you."

"I have something to tell you, Rose," said Mr. Moss. "Such an odd impression! Of course I must be mistaken. But first I want to know how Mrs. Cohen is. I thought she was not looking strong to-day."

Rose told him of the doctor's visit and the instructions he had given, and then handed him Ruth's letter, which he read in pain and surprise.

"I don't like the look of it, Rose," he said. "I hate mystery, and I cannot decide immediately whether it ought to be kept from Mr. Cohen."

"Oh, father!" cried Rose. "Ruth will never forgive me if I betray her."

"I don't think it is the question of a betrayal," said Mr. Moss. "She tells you to speak to me, and you have done so. I take the blame on myself, whatever happens. My dear, you are not old enough to understand such matters, and you must leave this to me. Give me the letter, my dear; it will be better in my keeping than in yours. Just consider, Rose; would you have behaved so?"

"No, father; I could not."

"There is the answer. The odd impression I spoke of was that I saw Ruth to-night in a hansom cab. I thought I was mistaken, but now I am convinced it was she. If I had known what I know now I should have followed her. As for Ruth never forgiving you, what will Mr. Cohen's feelings be toward you when he discovers that you have acted in such a treacherous manner? Ruth is very little older than yourself and, I am afraid, cannot discriminate between right and wrong; she must not be allowed to drag us into a conspiracy against the peace of the family."

Rose was dismayed; she had not looked upon it in that light.

"Was Ruth alone?" she asked in a faltering voice.

"No, she had a gentleman with her. It is a bad business-a bad business. I intended to return to Portsmouth to-morrow, but now I shall remain till the matter is cleared up."

"Shall you do anything to-night, father?"

"No. I shall do nothing till the morning. I must have time to consider how to act. Mr. Cohen will not be home till past midnight, and he will be jaded with the fatigues of the day. To think that it should turn out so. Good-night, my dear child. Get to bed and try to sleep. It may, after all, turn out better than I expect."

But there was very little sleep for Rose this night, and very little, also, for Mr. Moss or Aaron Cohen. The cloud that was gathering was too ominous for repose.

CHAPTER XXXV.
THE HONORABLE PERCY STORNDALE MAKES AN APPEAL

It was not the only cloud that threatened Aaron's fortunes and happiness. Others were ready to burst, and in the gathering storm he saw, not too clearly, perhaps, the peril in which he stood. His fair reputation was in danger, the honorable edifice he had built for himself was tottering, the wealth he had amassed was jeopardized by circumstances over which he had no control. In the course of a few days all these things were to happen, and although on the day following that on which so great an honor had been paid to him he did not realize that ruin stared him in the face, he was sufficiently conscious that more than one sword was hanging over his head. But mere worldly misfortune was a trifle in comparison with the stings of his conscience and with a sting as bitter which he learned from the lips of Dr. Roberts. The physician had not been quite ingenuous in his report of Rachel's condition; his ripe experience scented a crisis which might or might not occur. It did not depend upon him, but upon the patient, and a few hours would decide the extent of the danger. It was this that caused him to call early at the house to see Rachel, and after he had been with her for a quarter of an hour he had a private conversation with Aaron.

"There is no absolute danger," he said, "but I shall be better satisfied if you will send her at once to the seaside. She will be better out of London. I saw on the table a number of letters-begging letters, I was informed-which Miss Rose had been reading to her. She must be free from the emotions created by these appeals and from anything of an agitating nature. Perfect repose and rest-that is what she requires, with brighter sunshine and balmier air. I should recommend Bournemouth, and if you wish I'll run down and see her there. Meanwhile I will give you the name of a physician who will understand her case as well as I do. Let Miss Rose go with her; your wife is fond of her, and she is a cheerful companion, though she seems to be rather depressed this morning. I have been lecturing the young lady, and she tells me she has had a bad night. It will do them both good."

"I cannot accompany her to-day," said Aaron, "I have so many important matters to attend to. We will go down to-morrow."

"Send her to-day," urged the physician, "and you can follow on to-morrow, or later. It is good weather for traveling; in a few hours it may change. To-day, by all means. We doctors are autocrats, you know, and will not listen to argument. To-day."

Had the business he had to attend to been of less importance Aaron would have put it aside, and traveled with his wife to the seaside, but it was business which imperatively demanded his present attention, and he had no alternative but to send her with Rose and the ever-faithful Prissy, in whom he had every confidence. He accompanied them as far as the railway station, and held Rachel's hand in his as they drove to Waterloo. It was not only that they were still lovers, but that he felt the need of the moral support which he derived from the tender handclasp.

"Do not be anxious about me, dear," said Rachel, "and do not come down till Friday. Then you can stop till Monday morning, and perhaps Joseph will be home by then, and he can come with you. He will not be able to keep away from Rose, and he has but a short time to remain in England. There is really nothing the matter with me except a little weakness which I shall soon overcome. If Ruth is happy in Portsmouth let her remain there if she wishes. We are growing old, love, you and I, and we must not tie our children too closely to our sides. They will fly away as the young birds do, and make nests of their own. May their homes be as happy as ours has been-may their lives be as happy as you have made mine."

In such-like tender converse the minutes flew by, and as the train steamed out of the station Rachel's face, with a bright smile upon it, was turned toward her husband.

On the road home Aaron telegraphed to Ruth in Portsmouth, addressing his telegram to Mr. Moss' house; he desired her to return to London to-day or to-morrow. He felt that he must speak to her with as little delay as possible respecting the disclosure which Mr. Dillworthy had made to him; it would be playing the coward's part indeed if he did not immediately ascertain the nature of her feelings for the Honorable Percy Storndale. Thus far the first step of his duty; what steps were to follow he had not yet determined upon.

Arriving at his house, he found Mr. Moss waiting to see him. Rose had left a letter for her father acquainting him with their departure for the seaside, and giving him their address in Bournemouth, which she was enabled to do, because Aaron had made arrangements by telegraph for their reception in a Jewish house there. After a few words of explanation of the cause of Rachel and Rose leaving so suddenly, Aaron informed his friend that he had telegraphed to Ruth to come home at once.

Mr. Moss started.

"You sent the telegram to my house?" he said.

"Certainly. I am sorry to break her visit, which she must have enjoyed, but there is a necessity for it. As my oldest friend you should not be kept in ignorance of this necessity, and will agree that it is not to be spoken of outside ourselves without my consent."

Thereupon he related the part of his interview with Mr. Dillworthy that affected Ruth and the son of Lord Storndale.

"There is another matter," he said, "of great importance which was mentioned during the interview, and which we may speak of presently. You now know my reason for sending to Ruth to come home. I must learn the truth from her own lips."

"Strangely enough," said Mr. Moss rather nervously, "I have come to say something about Ruth myself."

"Surely not in connection with this matter?" exclaimed Aaron.

"You must be the judge of that, Cohen. Did you notice whether Rose was looking well?"

"She looked tired. Dr. Roberts said she had passed a bad night, and that the change would do her good."

"A bad night! No wonder, poor child. I scarcely slept an hour with what is on my mind. You will be surprised at what I have to tell you. But first-Rose said nothing about Ruth?"

"Nothing whatever."

"You must not blame her; she acted by my directions, and her lips are sealed."

"Why should I blame her? She is a dear, good child; I have implicit faith and confidence in her. You alarm me, Mr. Moss. Speak plainly, I beg of you."

"Yes, I will do so; but I would have liked to break it gradually. Cohen, Ruth is not in Portsmouth."

"Not in Portsmouth! Where, then?"

"If what she writes and my eyes are to be believed she is in London, and has been here all the week. She remained with us two days, and then left, saying she was going to pay a visit to some other friends. We naturally thought, though we expected her to make a longer stay, that you were aware of it, and that the plan of her visit had been altered with your concurrence. Last night as I passed through Regent Street I saw a lady in a hansom in the company of a gentleman, and I could have sworn it was Ruth; but the cab was driving at a quick pace, and I thought I must have been mistaken. I came on here to Rose, and the poor child was in deep distress. She had received, a letter from Ruth, which she gave me to read. I do not offer any excuse for taking the letter from her; she is but a child, and is quite unfit for a responsibility which, without her consent, was imposed upon her. Here is the letter. It explains itself."

Aaron read it in silence, and with conflicting feelings.

His first thought was that Ruth had taken her fate into her own hands.

He had done his duty jealously by her in the past whatever might be his duty in the present. If, as was his fervent hope, no dishonor to her was involved in her flight-for it was no less than flight and desertion of the home in which she had been reared-if there had been a secret marriage, new contingencies of the future loomed dimly before him, contingencies in which the stern task it was his duty to perform was not so terrible in its import.

The past could never be condoned, but in his consideration of the future one figure towered above all others, the figure of his wife. If for her the suffering could be made less-if the fact of Ruth taking her course without his prompting, even in defiance of the lessons he had endeavored to inculcate, would mitigate the severity of her blow, was it not something to be grateful for?

If, he argued mentally, she and the son of Lord Storndale were married they had little to hope for from the Storndale family.

Their dependence, then, rested upon him, and he resolved that he would not fail the rash couple. His hope of an honorable, though secret, marriage was based upon his knowledge of Ruth's character. She was not given to exaggerated sentiment, he had never known her go into heroics, she possessed certain sterling qualities of strength and determination. Granted that she was led away by the glamour of wedding the son of a peer, he was convinced she would not so far forget herself as to bring shame upon herself and her connections. She was a Christian born, and she had the right to marry a Christian; by her own unprompted act she had cut the Gordian knot. That the Honorable Percy Storndale had a double motive in pursuing her was likely enough, love, Aaron hoped, being one, the fact of her reputed father being a wealthy man the other. Well, he would fulfill the young man's expectations; there was nothing in the shape of worldly atonement which he was not ready and anxious to make.

In the midst of his musings a servant presented himself with a telegram and a card. The card bore the name of The Hon. Percy Storndale, the telegram was from Mrs. Moss, in Portsmouth.

"Wait outside," Aaron said to the servant, who left the room.

The telegram was to the effect that Ruth was not in Portsmouth, and that Mrs. Moss, in her absence, had taken the liberty of reading the message, under the idea that it might contain something which required an immediate answer. "Is Ruth coming to us again?" Mrs. Moss asked.

Aaron passed the telegram and the card to Mr. Moss.

"Keep in the house," he said, "while I have an interview with this gentleman. Wait in the library, and tell the servant to show Mr. Storndale into this room."

In a few moments the young man was ushered in, and Aaron motioned him to a seat.

It is a human failing to run into extremes. No man is quite so good or bad as he is represented to be by his admirers and detractors. In his anxiety to prejudice Aaron against Lord Storndale's son Mr. Dillworthy had done the young man an injustice. A scapegrace he was, without doubt, but he had been reared into his vices and extravagancies-it may be said with truth carefully reared-and he was certainly no worse than hundreds of other men who are brought up with no definite aim in life, and educated without any sensible and serious effort being made to impress them with life's responsibilities. He had, indeed, the advantage of many, for although he considered it perfectly excusable to get into debt with tradesmen, and to borrow from money lenders without any expectation of being able to pay either one or the other, he would not have descended so low as to pick a pocket or cheat at cards. More of the pigeon than the gull, he looked always to his family to get him out of his scrapes; he believed it to be their duty; and it was upon him, not upon them, that injustice was inflicted when he was thrown entirely upon his own resources, and when he was given to understand that for the future he would have to settle his own liabilities.

He was fair-haired and blue-eyed, and passably good-looking; beyond this there was nothing remarkable in his appearance; but there was that air of good humor and careless ease about him which generally wins favor with women who do not look beneath the surface.

Just now he was manifestly ill at ease, for he had never before been engaged upon a mission so awkward and embarrassing.

That he was impressed by Aaron's dignified manner was evident; he had expected to meet a man of a different stamp.

Each waited for the other to speak, and Aaron was not the first to break the silence.

"I have taken the liberty of visiting you upon a rather delicate matter," said the young gentleman, "and it is more difficult than I anticipated."

"Yes?" said Aaron, and said no more.

The monosyllable was uttered in the form of a half question, and did not lessen the difficulties in the young man's way.

"Yes," he replied, and was at a loss how to continue; but again Aaron did not assist him.

"Upon my honor," he said at length, "I would not undertake to say whether I would rather be in this room than out of it, or out of it than in it."

He gave a weak laugh here, with a half idea that he had said something rather clever, but still he met with no encouragement from Aaron.

"It is so difficult, you see," he added. "I do not suppose you know me."

"No," said Aaron. "I do not know you."

"I thought it possible that your daughter, Miss Cohen, you know, might have mentioned me to you."

"She has never done so."

"It was my fault entirely. I said, on no account; and naturally she gave in."

"Did she wish to mention you to me?"

"Oh, yes, but I insisted. I don't exactly know why, but I did, and she gave in. I dare say I was a blockhead, but I hope you will find excuses for me."

"At present I can find none. We shall understand each other if you come to the point."

"I will try to do so, but it is not easy, I assure you, Mr. Cohen, after the way I have behaved. Upon second thoughts I do not see, upon my honor, I do not see how you can be expected to find excuses for me. But it does happen sometimes that a fellow meets another fellow who helps a lame dog over the stile. I am the lame dog, you know."

"It may assist you," said Aaron, "If I ask you one question, and if you frankly answer it. Are you a married man?"

"Upon my soul, sir," exclaimed the Honorable Percy Storndale, "I cannot be sufficiently thankful to you. Yes, sir, I am a married man."

"Long married?"

"Four days, Mr. Cohen."

"Can you show me proof of it?"

"I thank you again, sir. But it wasn't my idea; it was my wife's. 'Take the marriage certificate with you,' she said. She has wonderful ideas."

"Let me see the certificate."

The young man instantly produced it, and Aaron, with a deep-drawn breath of relief, saw recorded there the marriage of Miss Ruth Cohen and the Honorable Percy Storndale.

"You married my-my daughter, I see," said Aaron, "in a registrar's office."

"I don't know how to apologize to you, sir," said the young man, as relieved by Aaron's calm attitude as Aaron was himself at this proof of an honorable union. "I can't conceive anything meaner, but what could I do? Ruth-Miss Cohen, you know-being a Jewess, could not well have been married in a church, and I, being a Christian, could not well have been married in a synagogue. It was a very delicate point; I am not acquainted with the law on the subject, but no fellow can deny that it was a delicate point. Then there was another difficulty. Bridesmaids, bridesmaids' presents, and general expenses, to say nothing of the publicity, when the parties principally concerned wanted to get it over quietly and quickly. Ruth said you would never consent; I said my family would never consent; so what else was there for it? Pray forgive me if I am expressing myself clumsily."