sely: "Deane? I'm sorry--but we want you.
There's a change. I'm sure father's going."

He was dressing almost the instant he hung up the receiver. To Amy, who
had roused, he said: "It's Ruth. Her father's going. I can't do a
thing--but they want me there."

At first Amy made no reply. He thought nothing about that, engrossed in
getting dressed as quickly as possible. When she burst out, "So of
course you're going!" he was dumbfounded at the passionateness of her
voice. He looked at her in astonishment; then, for the first time the
other side of it, as related to their quarrel about Ruth, turned itself
to him. "Why, of course I'm going, Amy," he said quietly.

"It makes a difference who it is, doesn't it?" she cried, stormily. "The
other night when somebody called you and there wasn't a thing you could
do, you _said_ so! You _told_ them they mustn't ask you! But _this_ is
different, isn't it?"

The words had piled up tumultuously; she seemed right on the verge of
angry, tumultuous tears. He paused in what he was doing. "Why, Amy," he
murmured in real astonishment. And then helplessly repeated in tender
reproach, "Why, Amy!"

But she laughed, it seemed sneeringly. He colored, quickly finished
dressing and left the room without saying anything more.

When she heard the front door close, heard Deane running down the steps,
she sat up in bed and burst into tears of rage. Always that woman!
Running away to her in the middle of the night! He didn't _have_ to go!
There was nothing for him to do as a doctor--he could do nothing for a
man who had been dying for a couple of days. He _said_ that--just a
couple of nights before when someone wanted him to come. But this was
Ruth Holland! She had only to telephone. Of course he'd go anywhere--any
time--for her! Her sobs grew more and more passionate. Her head down on
her knees she rocked back and forth in that miserable fury only jealousy
and wounded pride can create.

This gathered together, brought to a head, the resentment accumulating
through a number of incidents. That afternoon she had gone over to the
Lawrences' to thank Edith and her mother for the flowers from the tea
which they had sent her that morning. They had urged her to run in
often, to be friendly. Her unhappiness about her talk with Deane the
night before, when he had actually proposed that she go to see this Ruth
Holland, made her want to be with friends; she wanted to see people who
felt as she did that--th