She had been to many an elaborate affair, which was down on the
social calendar as a "tea," sometimes as reporter and often as
guest, but she had found no hostess like Miss Ainslie, no china
so exquisitely fine, nor any tea like the clear, fragrant amber
which was poured into her cup.

"It came from China," said Miss Ainslie, feeling the unspoken
question. "I had a whole chest of it, but it's almost all gone."

Ruth was turning her cup and consulting the oracle. "Here's two
people, a man and a woman, from a great distance, and, yes,
here's money, too. What is there in yours?"

"Nothing, deary, and besides, it doesn't come true."

When Ruth finally aroused herself to go home, the old
restlessness, for the moment, was gone. "There's a charm about
you," she said, "for I feel as if I could sleep a whole week and
never wake at all."

"It's the tea," smiled Miss Ainslie, "for I'm a very commonplace
body."

"You, commonplace?" repeated Ruth; "why, there's nobody like
you!"

They stood at the door a few moments, talking aimlessly, but Ruth
was watching Miss Ainslie's face, as the sunset light lay
caressingly upon it. "I've had a lovely time," she said, taking
another step toward the gate.