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“Well,” said Mrs. Ruck, “I’m glad you’ve had some company.” Her husband looked at her, in silence, through narrowed eyelids, and I suspected that this gracious observation on the lady’s part was prompted by a restless conscience.

Miss Sophy glanced at me with her little straightforward air of defiance. “It would have been more proper if WE had had the company. Why didn’t you come after us, instead of sitting there?” she asked of Mr. Ruck’s companion.

“I was told by your father,” I explained, “that you were engaged in sacred rites.” Miss Ruck was not gracious, though I doubt whether it was because her conscience was better than her mother’s.

“Well, for a gentleman there is nothing so sacred as ladies’ society,” replied Miss Ruck, in the manner of a person accustomed to giving neat retorts.

“I suppose you refer to the Cathedral,” said her mother. “Well, I must say, we didn’t go back there. I don’t know what it may be of a Sunday, but it gave me a chill.”

“We discovered the loveliest little lace-shop,” observed the young girl, with a serenity that was superior to bravado.

Her father looked at her a while; then turned about again, leaning on the parapet, and gazed away at the “hills.”

“Well, it was certainly cheap,” said Mrs. Ruck, also contemplating the Alps.

“We are going to Chamouni,” said her husband. “You haven’t any occasion for lace at Chamouni.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear you have decided to go somewhere,” rejoined his wife. “I don’t want to be a fixture at a boarding-house.”

“You can wear lace anywhere,” said Miss Ruck, “if you pat it on right. That’s the great thing, with lace. I don’t think they know how to wear lace in Europe. I know how I mean to wear mine; but I mean to keep it till I get home.”

Her father transferred his melancholy gaze to her elaborately- appointed little person; there was a great deal of very new-looking detail in Miss Ruck’s appearance. Then, in a tone of voice quite out of consonance with his facial despondency, “Have you purchased a great deal?” he inquired.

“I have purchased enough for you to make a fuss about.”

“He can’t make a fuss about that,” said Mrs. Ruck.

“Well, you’ll see!” declared the young girl with a little sharp laugh.

But her father went on, in the same tone: “Have you got it in your pocket? Why don’t you put it on–why don’t you hang it round you?”

“I’ll hang it round YOU, if you don’t look out!” cried Miss Sophy.

“Don’t you want to show it to this gentleman?” Mr. Ruck continued.

“Mercy, how you do talk about that lace!” said his wife.

“Well, I want to be lively. There’s every reason for it; we’re going to Chamouni.”

“You’re restless; that’s what’s the matter with you.” And Mrs. Ruck got up.

“No, I ain’t,” said her husband. “I never felt so quiet; I feel as peaceful as a little child.”

Mrs. Ruck, who had no sense whatever of humour, looked at her daughter and at me. “Well, I hope you’ll improve,” she said.

“Send in the bills,” Mr. Ruck went on, rising to his feet. “Don’t hesitate, Sophy. I don’t care what you do now. In for a penny, in for a pound.”

Miss Ruck joined her mother, with a little toss of her head, and we followed the ladies to the carriage. “In your place,” said Miss Sophy to her father, “I wouldn’t talk so much about pennies and pounds before strangers.”

Poor Mr. Ruck appeared to feel the force of this observation, which, in the consciousness of a man who had never been “mean,” could hardly fail to strike a responsive chord. He coloured a little, and he was silent; his companions got into their vehicle, the front seat of which was adorned with a large parcel. Mr. Ruck gave the parcel a little poke with his umbrella, and then, turning to me with a rather grimly penitential smile, “After all,” he said, “for the ladies that’s the principal interest.”