she had never quite gone over that edge. For one thing, Edith
had been away from Freeport a good deal in those three years. Mrs.
Lawrence had opposed Edith's marrying so young, and had taken her to
Europe for one year, and in the last year they had spent part of the
time in California. In the last couple of months, since Edith's return
from the West, she had spoken of Ruth's not seeming like herself, of
fearing she was not well. She had several times hurt Edith's feelings by
refusing, for no apparent reason, to do things with her. But she had
always been able to make that up afterwards and in these plans for the
wedding she and Edith had been drawn close again.

When she went over to the Lawrences' late that afternoon she had decided
that she would tell Edith. It seemed she must. She could not hope to
tell it in a way that would make Edith sympathize. There was not time
for that, and she dared not open herself to it. She would just say it
briefly, without any attempts at justifying it. Something like: "Edith,
there's been something you haven't known. I'm not like you. I'm not what
you think I am. I love Stuart Williams. We've loved each other for a
long time. He's sick. He's got to go away--and I'm going with him.
Good-bye, Edith,--and I hope the wedding goes just beautifully."

But that last got through--got down to the feeling she had been trying
to keep closed, the feeling that had seemed to seal itself over the
moment she saw that she must go with Stuart. "I hope the wedding goes
just beautifully!" Somehow the stiff little phrase seemed to mean all
the old things. There was a moment when she _knew_: knew that she was
walking those familiar streets, that she would not be walking them any
more; knew that she was going over to Edith's--that all her life she had
been going over to Edith's--that she would not be going there any more;
knew that she was going away from home, that she loved her father and
mother--Ted--her grandfather--and Terror, her dog. Realization broke
through and flooded her. She had to walk around a number of blocks
before she dared go to Edith's.

Miss Edith was up in her room, Emma, the maid, said, taking it for
granted that Ruth would go right up. Yes, she always did go right up,
she was thinking. She had always been absolutely at home at the
Lawrences'. They always wanted her; there were times of not wanting to
see anyone else, but it seemed both Edith and her mother always wanted
her. She paus