them would fall away.

She was conscious of an approaching horse and buggy and stepped aside;
then walked on, so aglow with her own thoughts that a passing by did not
break in upon her. She did not even know that the girl in the run-about
had stopped her horse. At the cry: "Oh--I'm so glad!" she was as
startled as if she had thought herself entirely alone.

It was a big effort to turn, to gather herself together and speak. She
had been so far away, so completely possessed that it took her an
instant to realize that the girl leaning eagerly toward her was Mildred
Woodbury.

Mildred was moving over on the seat, inviting her to get in. "I'm so
glad!" she repeated. "I went to Mrs. Herman's, and was so disappointed
to miss you. I thought maybe I'd come upon you somewhere," she laughed
gladly, though not without embarrassment.

There was a moment of wanting to run away, of really considering it. She
knew now--had remembered, realized--what it was about Mildred.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Her instinct to protect herself from this young girl was the thing that
gained composure for her. At first it was simply one of those physical
instincts that draw us back from danger, from pain; and then she threw
the whole force of her will to keeping that semblance of composure. Her
instinct was not to let reserves break down, not to show agitation; to
protect herself by never leaving commonplace ground. It was terribly
hard--this driving back the flood-tide of feeling and giving no sign of
the struggle, the resentment. It was as if every nerve had been charged
to full life and then left there outraged.

But she could do it; she could appear pleasantly surprised at Mildred's
having come to take her for a drive, could talk along about the little
things that must be her shield against the big ones. Something in her
had gone hard in that first moment of realizing who Mildred was. She was
not going to be driven back again! And so she forced herself to talk
pleasantly of the country through which they went, of Mildred's horse,
of driving and riding.

But it was impossible not to grow a little interested in this young
Mildred Woodbury. She sat erect and drove in a manner that had the
little tricks of worldliness, but was somehow charming in spite of its
artificiality. Ruth was thinking that Mildred was a more sophisticated
young person than she herself had been at that age. She wondered if
sophistication was increasing in the world, i