During dinner both Ruth and Ethel were aware of some sub-interest in the Judge's manner; his absent-mindedness was unusual, and once Ruth saw a faint smile that nothing evident could have induced. Unconsciously also he set a tone of constraint and hurry; the meal was not loitered over, the conversation flagged, and all rose from the table with a sense of relief; perhaps, indeed, with a feeling of expectation.
They entered the parlor together, and the mastiff rose to meet them, asking permission to remain with the little coaxing push of his nose which brought the ready answer: "Certainly, Sultan. Make yourself comfortable."
Then they grouped themselves round the fire, and the Judge lit his cigar and looked at Ethel in a way that instantly brought curiosity to the question: "You have a secret, father," she said. "Is it about grandmother?"
"It is news rather than a secret, Ethel. And grandmother has a good deal to do with it, for it is about her family--the Mostyns."
"Oh!"
The tone of Ethel's "Oh!" was not encouraging, and Ruth's look of interest held in abeyance was just as chilling. But something like this attitude had been expected, and Judge Rawdon was not discouraged by it; he knew that youth is capable of great and sudden changes, and that its ability to find reasonable motives for them is unlimited, so he calmly continued: "You are aware that your grandmother's name before marriage was Rachel Mostyn?"
"I have seen it a thousand times at the bottom of her sampler, father, the one that is framed and hanging in her morning room--Rachel Mostyn, November, Anno Domini, 1827."
"Very well. She married George Rawdon, and they came to New York in 1834. They had a pretty house on the Bowling Green and lived very happily there. I was born in 1850, the youngest of their children. You know that I sign my name Edward M. Rawdon; it is really Edward Mostyn Rawdon."
He paused, and Ruth said, "I suppose Mrs. Rawdon has had some news from her old home?"
"She had a letter last night, and I shall probably receive one to-morrow. Frederick Mostyn, her grand-nephew, is coming to New York, and Squire Rawdon, of Rawdon Manor, writes to recommend the young man to our hospitality."
"But you surely do not intend to invite him here, Edward. I think that would not do."
"He is going to the Holland House. But he is our kinsman, and therefore we must be hospitable."
"I have been trying to count the kinship. It is out of my reckoning," said Ethel. "I hope at least he is nice and presentable."