talked about. You go about saying perfectly impossible things to
people. You won't marry. You have refused nearly every friend I have."

Ruth shuddered.

"Your friends are awful, Bailey. They are all turned out on a pattern,
like a flock of sheep. They bleat. They have all got little, narrow
faces without chins or big, fat faces without foreheads. Ugh!"

"None of them good enough for you, is that it?"

"Not nearly."

Emotion rendered Bailey--for him--almost vulgar.

"I guess you hate yourself!" he snapped.

"No _sir_" beamed Ruth. "I think I'm perfectly beautiful."

Bailey grunted. Ruth came to him and gave him a sisterly kiss. She was
very fond of Bailey, though she declined to reverence him.

"Cheer up, Bailey boy," she said. "Don't you worry yourself. There's a
method in my madness. I'll find him sooner or later, and then you'll be
glad I waited."

"Him? what do you mean?"

"Why, _him_, of course. The ideal young man. That's who--or is it
whom?--I'm waiting for. Bailey, shall I tell you something? You're so