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George whistled. “Well I never,” he said. “And what might you be up to?”

“I’d much rather you didn’t ask about it.”

“Well, at any rate, who is he?”

George did not in the least suppose that there was any “he” in the case, and was rather surprised that Ruth blushed.

“There,” said Ruth, “I told you not to ask. Now I suppose you won’t do it.”

“Reverting to the original question, who is he?”

“Well, you’ve always said that all men are equal, haven’t you?”

“In one sense, yes. All men are not equally desirable as companions for my niece.”

“He is the man who came to tune the piano last week. You always said class distinctions were all rot. We are going to see some pictures together, and then he’s going to give me tea–at least, he was. But now I suppose you won’t let us, though he’s quite nice really. But at any rate you’ll have to promise not to sneak about it to Aunt Jane.”

“Promise for promise. Will you promise not to marry a piano-tuner?”

Ruth burst out laughing. “Rather,” she said. “Absolutely.”

CHAPTER II

Like most lazy and good-tempered men, George could show a good deal of energy and decision, when the occasion arose. He began work that night, after Ruth had gone up to bed.

“You’re not such a careful housekeeper as you used to be, Jane.”

This was quite untrue, and he knew it to be untrue. He also knew that it would make Jane angry.

“Perhaps,” she said, “you will tell me, George, what prompts you to make such a perfectly senseless remark. One of the glasses on the dinner-table to-night was not properly polished. I have already spoken about it. But I’m quite positive you never noticed it.”

“No,” said George. “I noticed that your piano was out of tune. Why don’t you have it done regularly?”

“Everything in this house is done regularly. The piano is tuned once every three months. In this case you’re more particularly in the wrong, because it had an extra tuning last week. Ruth thought it wanted it, and wrote to Brinswoods to send a man.”

“That man ought to get the sack,” said George with confidence. “What was his name?”

“My dear George, how on earth should I know? Piano-tuners don’t have names. They have sherry and a biscuit. They are just the piano-tuner. It was Ruth who showed him what was required–I never even saw him. And she was quite satisfied with what he had done. I think you must own that Ruth is a better judge in musical questions than yourself.”

“Very likely,” said George, and changed the subject. The newspaper provided him with a topic. A young lady had just eloped with her father’s chauffeur. A young lady, moreover, who had been most strictly brought up. He remembered other instances. Miss Caterham seemed uneasy.

“But Ruth is not in the least like that,” she said.

“Of course not. Who’s thinking about Ruth? Besides, she’s not brought up in that silly way. She sees plenty of society, plenty of young men of her own class, and is not likely to make a mistake.”

“Ruth has been brought up with the greatest care, and I hope with wisdom. Where you go so wrong about Ruth, George, is in regarding her as a mere child. She is eighteen. You are inclined to forget that.”

George took the rebuke meekly. Miss Caterham continued: “I have always been intending to make some slight changes in view of her age. She has already been to two dances.”

“You don’t want to overdo it,” said the subtile George. “You needn’t be in the least nervous about Ruth.”

Before returning to London next day, George had a few moments of serious conversation with Ruth. At least, George was perfectly serious. Ruth rather presented the appearance of an amused person with a secret. Her Uncle George gave her six invitations, and she accepted all of them.

“But will Aunt Jane stand it?” she asked.

“I think,” said George, “that your aunt will make no difficulties.”

Ruth went to tea on the Terrace. Ruth went to theatres and concerts. On three occasions she met Mr Bruce Sothering.

And when, a few days later, she announced her engagement to Mr Bruce Sothering, she met with the heartiest congratulations from her uncle, and with no serious opposition from her aunt. And in the ordinary course of events, Mr Bruce Sothering came to see Miss Caterham.

Miss Caterham would have been interested if she could have heard what they said about it in the kitchen.

“I’m making no mistake at all,” said the parlour-maid. “I don’t care how rich he is or how well connected. That Mr Bruce Sothering is the young man who came to tune the piano last time. It’s not a question of a likeness.”

“But why?” said the cook.

“Hintrigue,” said the butler darkly.