A Ring of Rubies. Meade L. T.

to me the name of the street in which Cousin Geoffrey lived, but a whole week passed before I had sufficient particulars to act upon. These were all I wanted. I would do the rest myself.

      On a certain bright morning early in October, the beginning of a lovely day, I kissed my mother, and accompanied my father and brothers to town. They were under the impression that I wanted to buy a new winter hat. They thought me extravagant to come so far for the purpose; they expressed disapproval by their looks, if not by their words. They were all three of them men who thought it waste of breath to argue with a woman.

      I offered no explanations. They read their papers and took no notice of me. When we got to Paddington, George, my youngest brother, offered to put me in an omnibus which would, he said, set me down at Whiteley’s door.

      “I am not going to Whiteley’s,” I said.

      George stared.

      “It is quite the cheapest place for what you want,” he replied. “But as you are so absolutely demoralised, here is another omnibus which will take you to Regent Circus.”

      I got into this omnibus, bade George good-bye, and, as I drove away, felt that I had now really my fate in my own hands.

      I had never been in London alone before, but I was glad to feel that my heart beat quite evenly, and that I was in no way unduly excited.

      “It is quite plain to my mind, Rosamund Lindley,” I said, addressing myself, “that you were meant to be a man. You have the nerve, the calm which is generally reserved for the male sex. Here you are in great London, and your pulse doesn’t even flutter. Keep up your courage, Rosamund, and you will build the fortunes of your family.”

      We reached the Circus; the omnibus conductor gave me some directions, and I walked up Oxford Street, stepping lightly, as the young and hopeful should.

      I did not know my way beyond a certain point, but policemen directed me, and presently I found myself in an old square, and standing on the steps of a house whose windows were grimy with dust, and the old knocker of the ponderous hall-door rusty from want of use.

      “My mother must be mistaken – Cousin Geoffrey must have moved from this house,” I said to myself.

      Nevertheless, I raised the knocker, and made it sound sharply. In the course of a minute footsteps were heard in the tiled hall within. Some chains were withdrawn from the door, and a dreary-looking old man put his head out.

      “Is Mr Rutherford at home?”

      The old man opened the door an inch wider.

      “Eh? What? I’m a trifle deaf,” he said.

      I repeated my question more distinctly.

      “Is Mr Rutherford within?”

      “And what may you want with him?”

      “My name is Rosamund Lindley. I am his relative. I want to see him.”

      “Eh, my dear,” said the old man; “Geoffrey Rutherford has many relatives, many, and they all want to see him. It’s wonderful how he’s appreciated! Quite extraordinary, for he does nothing to deserve it. I’ll inquire if you can be admitted, Miss – Miss Lindley.”

      The old man shambled away. He was so inhospitable that he absolutely left the chain on the door.

      He was absent for nearly ten minutes. I thought he had forgotten all about me, and was about to knock again, when he reappeared. Without saying a word he removed the chain from the hall-door and flung it wide open.

      He was about the shabbiest-looking servant I ever saw.

      “Come this way,” he said, when I had stepped into the hall.

      He took me down a long passage, and into a room which was only lighted from the roof. The furniture of the room was handsome, but covered everywhere with dust. The leather of the high-backed chairs was worm-eaten.

      “Sit down, Miss Lindley,” he said, motioning to one of them.

      And then, to my astonishment, he placed himself before a high desk, and began to write.

      I am sure I must always have had a quick temper. I thought this old servant’s manners intolerable.

      “Go and tell your master, at once, that his relative, Rosamund Lindley, is here,” I said. “Go, I am in a hurry.”

      He dropped his pen, and looked at me with the dawning of a smile playing round his thin lips.

      “And pray, who is my master?”

      “My cousin, Mr Geoffrey Rutherford.”

      “I happen to be that individual myself.”

      I was really startled into jumping out of my seat. I flopped back again with a very red face, said “Oh!” and felt extremely foolish.

      “What is your candid opinion of your Cousin Geoffrey, young lady?” said the little man, jumping up and walking over to the fireplace. “He is the ideal sort of rich cousin, is he not?”

      I laughed. My laugh seemed to please the owner of the dirty house. He smiled again faintly, looking hard into my face, and said: – “I forget your name, tell it to me again.”

      “Rosamund Lindley.”

      “Ah, Lindley!” He started slightly. “I have put down no Lindleys in my list of relatives. Rosamund Lindley! Are you my seventh, eighth, or tenth cousin, child? I have cousins, I assure you, twenty degrees removed, most affectionate people. Extraordinary! I can’t make out what they see in me.”

      “My mother was your first cousin,” I said boldly. “Her name was the same as yours – Rutherford. Before she was married she was known to her friends as Mary Rutherford.”

      I expected this remark to make a sensation. It did. The little man turned his back on me, gazed for a couple of minutes into the empty grate, then flashed round, and pointed to one of the worm-eaten chairs.

      “Sit down, Rosamund Lindley, you – you have astonished me. You have given me a shock. In short you have mentioned the only relative who is not – not very affectionate. So you are Mary Rutherford’s daughter? You are not like her. I can’t compliment you by saying that you are. Did – did Mary Rutherford send you to me?”

      “Most assuredly she did not. I have come entirely of my own free will. I had to coax my mother for a whole week before she would even give me your address.”

      “But she gave it at last?”

      “I made her.”

      “She knows you have come then.”

      “It is impossible for her not to know that I have come. But she is angry – grieved – even frightened. You could not have been at all kind to my mother long ago, Cousin Geoffrey.”

      “Hush – chit! Let your mother’s name drop out of our conversation. Now, I will sit down near you, and we can talk. You have come to see me of your own free will? Granted. You are my relative – not twenty degrees removed? Granted. Now, what can I do for you. Rosamund Lindley?”

      “I want you to help me,” I said.

      I spoke out quite boldly.

      “You are rich, and I am poor. It is more blessed to give than to receive.”

      “Ha, ha! You want me to be one of the blessed ones? Very neatly put. Upon my word, you’re a brave girl. You quite entertain me. Go on.”

      My cheeks were very red now, but I was not going to be beaten.

      “Cousin Geoffrey,” I said, “we are all very poor at home, and I hate being poor. We have all to pinch and contrive, and I loathe pinching and contriving. I have a talent, and I want to cultivate it. I want to be an artist. I can’t be an artist without money. I wish to go to one of the good schools of art, here in London, and study hard, and work my way up from the very beginning. I have no money to do this, but you have lots of money. As you are my cousin, I think you ought to give me enough money to learn art at one of the great schools here. I think you ought. You are my relative – you ought to help me.”

      I