"It is a fine day.
Your aunt must be ill." For the moment Ruth did not understand the connection of ideas in his mind, until she suddenly remembered the musical-box, which, Mrs.Alwynn had often told her, was "so nice and cheery on a wet day, or in time of illness." She hurriedly entered the drawing-room, followed by Mr.Alwynn, where the first object that met her view was Mrs.Alwynn extended on the sofa, arrayed in what she called her tea-gown, a loose robe of blue cretonne, with a large vine-leaf pattern twining over it, which broke out into grapes at intervals.

Ruth knew that garment well.

It came on only when Mrs.Alwynn was suffering.

She had worn it last during a period of entire mental prostration, which had succeeded all too soon an exciting discovery of mushrooms in the glebe.

Mr.Alwynn's heart and Ruth's sank as they caught sight of it again.
With a dignity befitting the occasion, Mrs.Alwynn recounted in detail the various ways in which she had employed herself after their departure the previous evening, up to the exact moment when she slipped going up-stairs, and sprained her ankle, in a blue and green manner that had quite alarmed the doctor when he had seen it, and compared with which Mrs.Thursby's gathered finger in the spring was a mere bagatelle.
"Mrs.Thursby stayed in bed when her finger was bad," said Mrs.Alwynn to Ruth, when Mr.Alwynn had condoled, and had made his escape to his study.