She wanted him to like her, to stay in that miserable village as
long as she did, and keep her mind from stagnation--her thought
went no further than that. In October, when they went back, she
would thank Carlton, prettily, for sending her a friend--provided
they did not quarrel. She could see long days of intimate
companionship, of that exalted kind which is, possible only when
man and woman meet on a high plane. "We're both too old for
nonsense," she thought; and then a sudden fear struck her, that
Winfield might be several years younger than she was.

Immediately she despised herself. "I don't care if he is," she
thought, with her cheeks crimson; "it's nothing to me. He's a
nice boy, and I want to be amused."

She went to her dresser, took out the large top drawer, and
dumped its contents on the bed. It was a desperate measure, for
Ruth hated to put things in order. The newspaper which had lain
in the bottom of it had fallen out also, and she shook it so
violently that she tore it.

Then ribbons, handkerchiefs, stocks, gloves, and collars were
unceremoniously hustled back into the drawer, for Miss Thorne was
at odds with herself and the world. She was angry with Hepsey,
she hated Winfield, and despised herself. She picked up a scrap
of paper which lay on a glove, and caught a glimpse of unfamiliar
penmanship.

It was apparently the end of a letter, and the rest of it was
gone. "At Gibraltar for some time," she read, "keeping a shop,
but will probably be found now in some small town on the coast of