She was, in truth, so little accustomed to have her authority questioned, that before Mr Benson had made up his mind, she had produced paper, pens, and ink from the drawer in her bureau, placed them before him, and was going to leave the room.
"Leave the note on this shelf, and trust me that it goes by the maid.
The boy that drives her there in the car shall bring you an answer back." She was gone before he could rally his scattered senses enough to remember that he had not the least idea of the name of the party to whom he was to write.

The quiet leisure and peace of his little study at home favoured his habit of reverie and long deliberation, just as her position as mistress of an inn obliged her to quick, decisive ways.
Her advice, though good in some points, was unpalatable in others.

It was true that Ruth's condition ought to be known by those who were her friends; but were these people to whom he was now going to write, friends?
He knew there was a rich mother, and a handsome, elegant son; and he had also some idea of the circumstances which might a little extenuate their mode of quitting Ruth.

He had wide enough sympathy to understand that it must have been a most painful position in which the mother had been placed, on finding herself under the same roof with a girl who was living with her son, as Ruth was.

And yet he did not like to apply to her; to write to the son was still more out of the question, as it seemed like asking him to return.
But through one or the other lay the only clue to her friends, who certainly ought to be made acquainted with her position.