Winfield as if he had always been her friend. Conventionality,
years, and the veneer of society were lightly laid upon one who
would always be a boy. Some men are old at twenty, but Winfield
would be young at seventy.

"You can tell him if you want to," Ruth rejoined, calmly. "He'll
be so pleased that he'll double your salary on the spot."

"And you?" he asked, his eyes twinkling with fun.

"I'll be pensioned, of course."

"You're all right," he returned, "but I guess I won't tell him.
Riches lead to temptation, and if I'm going to be on The Tribune
I'd hate to have you pensioned."

Hepsey appeared to have a great deal of employment in the
dining-room, and was very quiet about it, with long pauses
between her leisurely movements. Winfield did not seem to notice
it, but it jarred upon Ruth, and she was relieved when he said he
must go.

"You'll come again, won't you?" she asked.

"I will, indeed."

She stood at the window, unconsciously watching him as he went
down the hill with a long, free stride. She liked the strength in
his broad shoulders, his well modulated voice, and his clear,
honest eyes; but after all he was nothing but a boy.