witchery of their expression. By some occult power her glance fell
unconsciously on him; and he beheld, with mingled amazement and
speculation, a rosy hue overspread her face and throat; her hands went
swiftly to her face as if she would hide something it might reveal, and she
passed quickly from the room. Arnold sat down to solve this problem of an
unknown quantity.

Ruth's birthday came in its course, a few days after her meeting with Rose
Delano.

The family celebrated it in their usual simple way, which consisted only in
making the day pass pleasantly for the one whose day of days it was, --a
graceful way of showing that the birth has been a happy one for all
concerned.

On this evening of her twenty-second birthday, Ruth seemed to be in her
element. She had donned, in a spirit of mischief, a gown she had worn five
years before on the occasion of some festivity. The girlish fashion of the
white frock, with its straight, full skirt to her ankles, the round baby
waist, and short puffs on her shoulders made a very child of her.

"Who can imagine me seventeen?" she asked gayly as she entered the library,
softly lighted by many wax candles. Her mother, who was again enjoying the
freedom of the house, and who was now snugly ensconced in her own
particular chair, looked up at her.

"That little frock makes me long to take you in my lap," said she,
brightly.

"And it makes me long to be there," answered Ruth, throwing herself into