"Yes," said Ruth. "Nothing but pride, of course. Old Cotterill wanted to have every penny he could scrape so as to be able to make the least tiny bit of a show when he gets to Toronto, and so—steerage! Just think of Mrs. Cotterill and Nellie in the steerage! If I’d known of it I should have altered that, I can tell you, and pretty quickly too; and now it’s too late." "No, it is n’t," Denry contradicted her flatly. "But they ’ve gone." "I could telegraph to Liverpool for saloon berths—there ’s bound to be plenty at this time of year—and I could run over to Liverpool to-morrow and catch ’em on the boat and make ’em change." She asked him whether he really thought he could, and he assured her. "Second-cabin berths would be better," said she. "Why?" "Well, because of dressing for dinner and so on. They have n’t got the clothes, you know." "Of course," said Denry. "Listen," she said, with an enchanting smile. "Let’s halve the cost, you and I. And let’s go to Liverpool together and—er—make the little gift and arrange things. I ’m leaving for Southport to-morrow, and Liverpool’s on my way." Denry was delighted by the suggestion, and telegraphed to Liverpool, with success. Thus they found themselves on that morning in the Liverpool express together. The work of benevolence in which they were engaged had a powerful influence on their mood, which grew both intimate and tender. Ruth made no concealment of her regard for Denry; and as he gazed across the compartment at her, exquisitely mature (she was slightly older than himself), dressed to a marvel, perfect in every detail of manner, knowing all that was to be known about life, and secure in a handsome fortune—as he gazed, Denry reflected, joyously, victoriously: "I ’ve got the dibs, of course. But she’s got ’em too—perhaps more. Therefore she must like me for myself alone. This brilliant creature has been everywhere and seen everything, and she comes back to the Five Towns and comes back to _me_." It was his proudest moment. And in it he saw his future far more dazzlingly glorious than he had dreamt—even as late as six months before. "When shall you be out of mourning?" he inquired. "In two months," said she. This was not a proposal and acceptance, but it was very nearly one. They were silent, and happy. Then she said: "Do you ever have business at Southport?" And he said, in a unique manner: "I shall have." Another silence. This time, he felt, he would marry her. V