But Ruth fancied that Mr. Bellingham looked as if he could understand the feelings of those removed from him by circumstance and station. He had drawn up the windows of his carriage, it is true, with a shudder. Ruth, then, had been watching him. Yet she had no idea that any association made her camellia precious to her. She believed it was solely on account of its exquisite beauty that she tended it so carefully. She told Jenny every particular of its presentation, with open, straight-looking eye, and without the deepening of a shade of colour. "Was it not kind of him? You can't think how nicely he did it, just when I was a little bit mortified by her ungracious ways." "It was very nice, indeed," replied Jenny. "Such a beautiful flower! Iwish it had some scent." "I wish it to be exactly as it is--it is perfect. So pure!" said Ruth, almost clasping her treasure as she placed it in water. "Who is Mr. Bellingham?" "He is son to that Mrs. Bellingham of the Priory, for whom we made the grey satin pelisse," answered Jenny sleepily. "That was before my time," said Ruth. But there was no answer. Jenny was asleep. It was long before Ruth followed her example. Even on a winter day, it was clear morning light that fell upon her face as she smiled in her slumber.
Jenny would not waken her, but watched her face with admiration; it was So lovely in its happiness. "She is dreaming of last night," thought Jenny. It was true she was; but one figure flitted more than all the rest through her visions. He presented flower after flower to her in that baseless morning dream, which was all too quickly ended. The night before she had seen her dead mother in her sleep, and she wakened weeping. And now she dreamed of Mr. Bellingham, and smiled. And yet, was this a more evil dream than the other? The realities of life seemed to cut more sharply against her heart than usual that morning. The late hours of the preceding nights, and perhaps the excitement of the evening before, had indisposed her to bear calmly the rubs and crosses which beset all Mrs. Mason's young ladies at times. For Mrs. Mason, though the first dressmaker in the county, was human after all; and suffered, like her apprentices, from the same causes that affected them. This morning she was disposed to find fault with everything, and everybody. She seemed to have risen with the determination of putting the world and all that it contained (her world, at least) to rights before night; and abuses and negligences, which had long passed unreproved, or winked at, were to-day to be dragged to light, and sharply reprimanded.
Nothing less than perfection would satisfy Mrs. Mason at such times. She had her ideas of justice, too; but they were not divinely beautiful and true ideas; they were something more resembling a grocer's or tea-dealer's ideas of equal right. A little over-indulgence last night was to be balanced by a good deal of over-severity to-day; and this manner of rectifying previous errors fully satisfied her conscience. Ruth was not inclined for, or capable of, much extra exertion; and it would have tasked all her powers to have pleased her superior. The work-room seemed filled with sharp calls. "Miss Hilton! where have you put the blue Persian? Whenever things are mislaid, I know it has been Miss Hilton's evening for siding away!" "Miss Hilton was going out last night, so I offered to ear the work-room for her. I will find it directly, ma'am," answered one of the girls. "Oh, I am well aware of Miss Hilton's custom of shuffling off her duties upon any one who can be induced to relieve her," replied Mrs. Mason. Ruth reddened, and tears sprang to her eyes; but she was so conscious of the falsity of the accusation, that she rebuked herself for being moved by it, and, raising her head, gave a proud look round, as if in appeal to her companions. "Where is the skirt of Lady Farnham's dress? The flounces not put on! Iam surprised! May I ask to whom this work was entrusted yesterday?" inquired Mrs. Mason, fixing her eyes on Ruth. "I was to have done it, but I made a mistake, and had to undo it. I am very sorry." "I might have guessed, certainly. There is little difficulty, to be sure, in discovering, when work has been neglected or spoilt, into whose hands it has fallen." Such were the speeches which fell to Ruth's share on this day of all days, when she was least fitted to bear them with equanimity. In the afternoon it was necessary for Mrs Mason to go a few miles into the country. She left injunctions, and orders, and directions, and prohibitions without end; but at last she was gone, and, in the relief of her absence, Ruth laid her arms on the table, and, burying her head, began to cry aloud, with weak, unchecked sobs. "Don't cry, Miss Hilton,"--"Ruthie, never mind the old dragon,"--"How will you bear on for five years, if you don't spirit yourself up not to care a straw for what she says?"--were some of the modes of comfort and sympathy administered by the young workwomen. Jenny, with a wiser insight into the grievance and its remedy, said-- "Suppose Ruth goes. out instead of you, Fanny Barton, to do the errands.
The fresh air will do her good; and you know you dislike the cold east winds, while Ruth says she enjoys frost and snow, and all kinds of shivery weather." Fanny Barton was a great sleepy-looking girl, huddling over the fire. No one so willing as she to relinquish the walk on this bleak afternoon, when the east wind blew keenly down the street, drying up the very snow itself.
