Part 45 (1/2)
”Your father insisted on coming away?”
”Yes-after we had been there about a month he claimed he had had enough.
He's fearfully restless; he's very much out of health. Mother and I took the ground that if he was restless in Paris he needn't hope for peace anywhere. We don't mean to let up on him till he takes us back.” There was an air of keen resolution in Miss Ruck's pretty face, of the lucid apprehension of desirable ends, which made me, as she p.r.o.nounced these words, direct a glance of covert compa.s.sion toward her poor recalcitrant sire. He had walked away a little with his wife, and I saw only his back and his stooping patient-looking shoulders, whose air of acute resignation was thrown into relief by the cold serenity of his companion.
”He'll have to take us back in September anyway,” the girl pursued; ”he'll have to take us back to get some things we've ordered.”
I had an idea it was my duty to draw her out. ”Have you ordered a great many things?”
”Well, I guess we've ordered _some_. Of course we wanted to take advantage of being in Paris-ladies always do. We've left the most important ones till we go back. Of course that's the princ.i.p.al interest for ladies. Mother said she'd feel so shabby if she just pa.s.sed through.
We've promised all the people to be right there in September, and I never broke a promise yet. So Mr. Ruck has got to make his plans accordingly.”
”And what are his plans?” I continued, true to my high conception.
”I don't know; he doesn't seem able to make any. His great idea was to get to Geneva, but now that he has got here he doesn't seem to see the point. It's the effect of bad health. He used to be so bright and natural, but now he's quite subdued. It's about time he should improve, anyway. We went out last night to look at the jewellers' windows-in that street behind the hotel. I had always heard of those jewellers' windows.
We saw some lovely things, but it didn't seem to rouse father. He'll get tired of Geneva sooner than he did of Paris.”
”Ah,” said I, ”there are finer things here than the jewellers' windows.
We're very near some of the most beautiful scenery in Europe.”
”I suppose you mean the mountains. Well, I guess we've seen plenty of mountains at home. We used to go to the mountains every summer. We're familiar enough with the mountains. Aren't we, mother?” my young woman demanded, appealing to Mrs. Ruck, who, with her husband, had drawn near again.
”Aren't we what?” inquired the elder lady.
”Aren't we familiar with the mountains?”
”Well, I hope so,” said Mrs. Ruck.
Mr. Ruck, with his hands in his pockets, gave me a sociable wink.
”There's nothing much you can _tell_ them!”
The two ladies stood face to face a few moments, surveying each other's garments. Then the girl put her mother a question. ”Don't you want to go out?”
”Well, I think we'd better. We've got to go up to that place.”
”To what place?” asked Mr. Ruck.
”To that jeweller's-to that big one.”
”They all seemed big enough-they were _too_ big!” And he gave me another dry wink.
”That one where we saw the blue cross,” said his daughter.
”Oh come, what do you want of that blue cross?” poor Mr. Ruck demanded.
”She wants to hang it on a black velvet ribbon and tie it round her neck,” said his wife.
”A black velvet ribbon? Not much!” cried the young lady. ”Do you suppose I'd wear that cross on a black velvet ribbon? On a nice little gold chain, if you please-a little narrow gold chain like an old-fas.h.i.+oned watch-chain. That's the proper thing for that blue cross.
I know the sort of chain I mean; I'm going to look for one. When I want a thing,” said Miss Ruck with decision, ”I can generally find it.”
”Look here, Sophy,” her father urged, ”you don't want that blue cross.”