strange tone, "but I never have asked a lady the name of her
friend."

Gentle as it was, Ruth felt the rebuke keenly. An apology was on
her lips, but only her flushed cheeks betrayed any emotion. Miss
Ainslie's face was pale, and there was unmistakable resentment in
her eyes.

"I must go," Ruth said, after an awkward silence, and in an
instant Miss Ainslie was herself again.

"No-you mustn't go, deary. You haven't seen my garden yet. I have
planted all the seeds and some of them are coming up. Isn't it
beautiful to see things grow?"

"It is indeed," Ruth assented, forgetting the momentary
awkwardness, "and I have lived for a long time where I have seen
nothing grow but car tracks and high buildings. May I come again
and see your garden?"

"I shall be so glad to have you," replied Miss Ainslie, with a
quaint stateliness. "I have enjoyed your visit so much and I hope
you will come again very soon."

"Thank you--I will."

Her hostess had opened the door for her, but Ruth stood in the
hall, waiting, in obedience to some strange impulse. Then she
stepped outside, but something held her back-something that lay
unspoken between them. Those unfathomable eyes were fixed upon