William Menire dropped in occasionally of an evening, but she noticed that the one topic of all others was avoided as if by mutual consent. At last Ruth felt as if she could bear the suspense no longer.
"Do tell me, Ralph," she said; "is the whole thing what you call a frost?"
"Because you are so absorbed, and look so terribly anxious."
"Then, so far, the lode has proved to be worthless?" she questioned.
"It is either worthless, or else is so rich in mineral that I hardly like to think about it."
"Well, it is this way. The tests we have made so far show such a large percentage of tin that I am afraid we are mistaken."
"If there had been a less quantity, I should not have doubted that it was really tin, but there is so much of it that I'm afraid. Now do you understand?"
"But surely you ought to be able to find out?"
"Oh yes; we shall find out in time. A quantity of stuff is in the hands of expert assayers at the present time, and we are awaiting their report. If their final test should harmonise with the others, why--well, I will not say what."
"But why have you kept me in the dark all this time?"
"Because we did not wish to make you anxious. It is bad enough that William and I should be so much on the _qui vive_ that we are unable to sleep, without robbing you of your sleep also."
"I don't think I shall be robbed of my sleep," she said, with a laugh.
"Then you are not anxious?" he questioned.
"Because father was not the man to be mistaken in a matter of that kind. If any man in Cornwall knew tin when he saw it, it was father."
"I am glad you are so hopeful," he said; and he went off into his laboratory. He did not tell her that the possibilities of mistake were far more numerous than she had any conception of, and that it was possible for the cleverest experts to be mistaken until certain tests had been applied.
William Menire turned up a little later in the evening, and joined Ralph in his laboratory. He would have preferred remaining in the sitting-room, but Ruth gave him no encouragement to stay. She had grown unaccountably reserved with him of late. He was half afraid sometimes that in some way he had offended her. There was a time, and not so long ago, when she seemed pleased to be in his company, when she talked with him in the freest manner, when she even showed him little attentions. But all that was at an end. Ever since that morning when he had rushed into the house with the announcement that their offer for Hillside Farm had been accepted, she had been distinctly distant and cool with him.