er to put on her things.

"Dear Jemima!" said Ruth, "I am so glad to see you looking better
to-night! You quite frightened me this morning, you looked so ill."

"Did I?" replied Jemima. "Oh, Ruth! I have been so unhappy lately. I
want you to come and put me to rights," she continued, half smiling.
"You know I'm a sort of out-pupil of yours, though we are so nearly
of an age. You ought to lecture me, and make me good."

"Should I, dear?" said Ruth. "I don't think I'm the one to do it."

"Oh, yes! you are--you've done me good to-night."

"Well, if I can do anything for you, tell me what it is?" asked Ruth,
tenderly.

"Oh, not now--not now," replied Jemima. "I could not tell you here.
It's a long story, and I don't know that I can tell you at all. Mamma
might come up at any moment, and papa would be sure to ask what we
had been talking about so long."

"Take your own time, love," said Ruth; "only remember, as far as I
can, how glad I am to help you."

"You're too good, my darling!" said Jemima, fondly.

"Don't say so," replied Ruth, earnestly, almost as if she were
afraid. "God knows I am not."

"Well! we're none of us too good," answered Jemima; "I know that. But
you _are_ very good. Nay, I won't call you so, if it makes you look
so miserable. But come away downstairs."

With the fragrance of Ruth's sweetness lingering about her, Jemima
was her best self during the next half-hour. Mr Bradshaw was more and
more pleased, and raised the price of the silk, which he was going
to give Ruth, sixpence a yard during the time. Mr Farquhar went home
through the garden-way, happier than he had been this long time. He
even caught himself humming the old refrain:

On revient, on revient toujours,
A ses premiers amours.

But as soon as he was aware of what he was doing, he cleared away the
remnants of the song into a cough, which was sonorous, if not
perfectly real.

CHAPTER XXI

Mr Farquhar's Attentions Transferred

The next morning, as Jemima and her mother sat at their work, it came
into the head of the former to remember her father's very marked way
of thanking Ruth the evening before.

"What a favourite Mrs Denbigh is with papa," said she. "I am sure I
don't wonder at it. Did you notice, mamma, how he thanked her for
coming here last night?"

"Yes, dear; but I don't think it was all--" Mrs Bradshaw stopped
short. She was never certain if it was right or wrong to say
anything.

"Not all w