to help you undress?"

"No," was the curt answer. "Good night."

"Please let me unhook it, at least," urged Susan, following Ruth
into her room.

Ruth submitted.

"Did you have a good time?" asked Susan.

"Of course," snapped Ruth. "What made you think I didn't?"

"Don't be a silly, dear. I didn't think so."

"I had an awful time--awful!"

Ruth began to sob, turned fiercely on Susan. "Leave me alone!"
she cried. "I hate to have you touch me." The dress was, of
course, entirely unfastened in the back.

"You had a quarrel with Arthur?" asked Susan with sympathy. "But
you know he can't keep away from you. Tomorrow----"

"Be careful, Susan, how you let Sam Wright hang around you,"
cried Ruth, with blazing eyes and trembling lips. "You be
careful--that's all I've got to say."

"Why, what do you mean?" asked Susan wonderingly.

"Be careful! He'd never think for a minute of marrying you."

The words meant nothing to Susan; but the tone stabbed into her
heart. "Why not?" she said.

Ruth looked at her cousin, hung her head in shame. "Go--go!" she
begged. "Please go. I'm a bad girl--bad--_bad_! Go!" And, crying
hysterically, she pushed amazed Susan through the connecting
door, closed and bolted it.

CHAPTER IV

WHEN Fanny Warham was young her mother--compelled by her
father--roused--"routed out"--the children at half-past six on
week days and at seven on Sundays for prayers and breakfast, no
matter what time they had gone to bed the night before. The
horror of this made such an impression upon her that she never
permitted Ruth and Susan to be awakened; always they slept until
they had "had their sleep out." Regularity was no doubt an
excellent thing for health and for moral discipline; but the
best rule could be carried to foolish extremes. Until the last
year Mrs. Warham had made her two girls live a life of the
strictest simplicity and regularity, with the result that they
were the most amazingly, soundly, healthy girls in Sutherland.
And the regimen still held, except when they had company in the
evening or went out--and Mrs. Warham saw to it that there was
not too much of that sort of thing. In all her life thus far
Susan had never slept less than ten hours, rarely less than twelve.

It lacked less than a minute of ten o'clock the morning after
Sam's call when Susan's eyes opened upon her simple, pale-gray
bedroom, neat and fresh. She looked sleepily at the little clock
on t