Ruth began to feel a lively interest in her Aunt Jane,and to regret that she had not arrived in time to make her acquaintance.
She knew that Miss Hathaway was three or four years younger than Mrs.Thorne would have been,had she lived,and that a legacy had recently come to her from an old friend,but that was all,aside from the discoveries in the attic.
She contemplated the crayon portraits in the parlour and hoped she was not related to any of them.In the family album she found no woman whom she would have liked for an aunt,but was determined to know the worst.
"Is Miss Hathaway's picture here,Hepsey?"she asked.
"No'm.Miss Hathaway,she wouldn't have her picter in the parlour,nohow.Some folks does,but Miss Hathaway says't'aint modest.""I think she's right,Hepsey,"laughed Ruth,"though I never thought of it in just that way.I'll have to wait until she comes home."In the afternoon she donned the short skirt and heavy shoes of her "office rig,"and started down hill to explore the village.
It was a day to tempt one out of doors,--cool and bright,with that indefinable crispness which belongs to Spring.
The hill rose sheer from the highlands,which sloped to the river on the left,as she went down,and on the right to the forest.Aside path into the woods made her hesitate for a moment,but she went straight on.
It was the usual small town,which nestles at the foot of a hill and eventually climbs over it,through the enterprise of its wealthier residents,but,save for Miss Hathaway's house,the enterprise had not,as yet,become evident.At the foot of the hill,on the left,was Miss Ainslie's house and garden,and directly opposite,with the width of the hill between them,was a brown house,with a lawn,but no garden except that devoted to vegetables.
As she walked through the village,stopping to look at the display of merchandise in the window of the single shop,which was also post-office and grocery,she attracted a great deal of respectful attention,for,in this community,strangers were an event.Ruth reflected that the shop had only to grow to about fifty times its present size in order to become a full-fledged department store and bring upon the town the rank and dignity of a metropolis.
When she turned her face homeward,she had reached the foot of the hill before she realised that the first long walk over country roads was hard for one accustomed to city pavements.Abroad,flat stone offered an inviting resting-place,and she sat down,in the shadow of Miss Ainslie's hedge,hoping Joe would pass in time to take her to the top of the hill.The hedge was high and except for the gate the garden was secluded.
"I seem to get more tired every minute,"she thought."I wonder if I've got the rheumatism."She scanned the horizon eagerly for the dilapidated conveyance which she had once both feared and scorned.No sound could have been more welcome than the rumble of those creaking wheels,nor any sight more pleasing than the conflicting expressions in "Mamie's"single useful eye.She sat there a long time,waiting for deliverance,but it did not come.
"I'll get an alpenstock,"she said to herself,as she rose,wearily,and tried to summon courage to start.Then the gate clicked softly and the sweetest voice in the world said:"My dear,you are tired--won't you come in?"Turning,she saw Miss Ainslie,smiling graciously.In a moment she had explained that she was Miss Hathaway's niece and that she would be very glad to come in for a few moments.
"Yes,"said the sweet voice again,"I know who you are.Your aunt told me all about you and I trust we shall be friends."Ruth followed her up the gravelled path to the house,and into the parlour,where a wood fire blazed cheerily upon the hearth.
"It is so damp this time of year,"she went on,"that I like to keep my fire burning."While they were talking,Ruth's eyes rested with pleasure upon her hostess.She herself was tall,but Miss Ainslie towered above her.She was a woman of poise and magnificent bearing,and she had the composure which comes to some as a right and to others with long social training.
Her abundant hair was like spun silver--it was not merely white,but it shone.Her skin was as fresh and fair as a girl's,and when she smiled,one saw that her teeth were white and even;but the great charm of her face was her eyes.They were violet,so deep in colour as to seem almost black in certain lights,and behind them lay an indescribable something which made Ruth love her instinctively.She might have been forty,or seventy,but she was beautiful,with the beauty that never fades.
At intervals,not wishing to stare,Ruth glanced around the room.
Having once seen the woman,one could not fail to recognise her house,for it suited her.The floors were hardwood,highly polished,and partly covered with rare Oriental rugs.The walls were a soft,dark green,bearing no disfiguring design,and the windows were draped with net,edged with Duchesse lace.Miss Hathaway's curtains hung straight to the floor,but Miss Ainslie's were tied back with white cord.
The furniture was colonial mahogany,unspoiled by varnish,and rubbed until it shone.
"You have a beautiful home,"said Ruth,during a pause.
"Yes,"she replied,"I like it."
"You have a great many beautiful things."
"Yes,"she answered softly,"they were given to me by a--a friend.""She must have had a great many,"observed Ruth,admiring one of the rugs.
A delicate pink suffused Miss Ainslie's face."My friend,"she said,with quiet dignity,"is a seafaring gentleman."That explained the rugs,Ruth thought,and the vase,of finest Cloisonne,which stood upon the mantel-shelf.It accounted also for the bertha of Mechlin lace,which was fastened to Miss Ainslie's gown,of lavender cashmere,by a large amethyst inlaid with gold and surrounded by baroque pearls.
For some little time,they talked of Miss Hathaway and her travels."I told her she was too old to go,"said Miss Ainslie,.
