When he got home he found Mary Telfer keeping his sister company. Mary had been a good deal at the cottage lately. Ruth liked her to come; they had a great deal in common, and appeared to be exceedingly fond of each other. Mary was a bright, pleasant-faced girl of about Ralph's age. She was not clever--she made no pretension in that direction; but she was cheerful and good-tempered and domesticated. Moreover, as the only child of Robert Telfer, the contractor, she was regarded as an heiress in a small way. Ruth sometimes wondered whether, in the economy of nature, Mary might not be her brother's best friend. Ralph would want a wife some day. She did not believe in men remaining bachelors. They were much more happy, much more useful, and certainly much less selfish when they had a wife and family to maintain. Nor was that all; she had strong reasons for believing that Ralph had been smitten with a hopeless passion for Dorothy Hamblyn. She did not blame him in the least. Dorothy was so pretty and so winsome that it was perhaps inevitable under the circumstances. But the pity of it and the tragedy of it were none the less on that account. Hence, anything that would help him in his struggle to forget was to be welcomed. For that Ralph was honestly trying to put Dorothy Hamblyn out of his memory and out of his heart, she fully believed. For months now he had never mentioned the squire or his "little maid." Now and then Ruth would repeat the gossip that was floating about St. Goram, but if he took any interest in it, he made no sign. Dorothy had never once come back since she was sent away. Whether she was still at school, or had become a nun, or was living with friends, no one appeared to know. Sir John kept his own counsel, and politely snubbed all inquisitive persons. That Sir John was in a tight corner was universally believed. He had reduced his household to about one-third its previous dimensions, had dismissed half his gardeners and gamekeepers, had sold his hunters, and in several other ways was practising the strictest economy. All this implied that financially he was hard up. He got no sympathy, however, except from a few people of his own class. He had been such a hard landlord, so ready to take every mean advantage, so quick in raising rents, so slow in reducing them, that when he began to have meted out to him what he had so long meted out to others, there was rejoicing rather than sympathy.