f. Mildred got white for a
moment, then smiled in a funny little way and turned away. Tough on her,
wasn't it?--for really, she's a good deal of a kid, you know. And say,
Ruth, there's something mighty decent about Edith--about Mrs. Blair. She
saw it and right afterwards she went up to Mildred, seemed particularly
interested in her, and drew her into her crowd. Pretty white, don't you
think? That old hen--Mrs. Brewer--got red, let me tell you, for Edith
can put it all over her, you know, on being somebody, and that _got_
her--good and plenty!"

There was a queer little sound from Ruth, a sound like a not quite
suppressed sob; Ted rose, as if for leaving, and stood there awkwardly,
his back to her. He felt that Ruth was crying, or at least trying not to
cry. Why had he talked of a thing like that? Why did he have to bring in
Edith Lawrence?

It seemed better to go on talking about it now, as naturally as he
could. "I never thought there was much to Mildred," he resumed, not
turning round. "She always seemed sort of stuck up with the fellows of
our crowd. But I guess you never can tell. I saw her look at Billy
Archer the other night." He paused with a little laugh. "There wasn't
anything very stuck up about that look."

As still Ruth did not speak he began to talk about the property across
the street being for sale. When he turned around for taking leave--it
being past the time for going to Harriett's--it made him furious at
himself to see how strained and miserable Ruth's face was. She scarcely
said good-by to him; she was staring down the street where Mildred had
disappeared a few moments before. All the way over to Harriett's he
wondered just what Ruth was thinking. He was curious as well as
self-reproachful.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

When Ted entered the living-room at his sister Harriett's he felt as if
something damp and heavy had been thrown around him. He got the feeling
of being expected to contribute to the oppressiveness of the occasion.
The way no one was sitting in a comfortable position seemed to suggest
that constraint was deemed fitting. Cyrus was talking to Mr. McFarland
with a certain self-conscious decorousness. Harriett's husband, the Rev.
Edgar Tyler, sat before the library table in more of his pulpit manner
than was usual with him in his household, as if--so it seemed to
Ted--the relation of death to the matter in hand brought it particularly
within his province. Ted had never liked him; esp