's eyes.

"And you thought _this_--" She broke off with a short laugh and sat
there a moment trying to gain control of herself. When she spoke her
voice was controlled but full of passion. "I don't think," she said,
"that I've ever known of a more monstrous--a more insulting proposal
being made by one woman to another!"

"Insulting?" faltered Harriett.

Ruth did not at once reply but sat there so strangely regarding her
sister. "So this is your idea of life, is it, Harriett?" she began in
the manner of one making a big effort to speak quietly. "This is your
idea of marriage, is it? Here is the man I have lived with for eleven
years. For eleven years we've met hard things together as best we
could--worked, borne things together. Let me tell you something,
Harriett. If _that_ doesn't marry people--tell _me_ something. If that
doesn't marry people--just tell me, Harriett, _what does_?"

"But you know you're not married, Ruth," Harriett replied,
falteringly--for Ruth's burning eyes never left her sister's face. "You
know--really--you're not married. You know he's not divorced, Ruth. He's
not your husband. He's Marion Averley's."

"You think so?" Ruth flung back at her. "You really think so, do you,
Harriett? After those years together--brought together by love, united
by living, by effort, by patience, by courage--I ask you again,
Harriett,--if the things there have been between Stuart Williams and me
can't make a marriage real--_what can_?"

"The law is the law," murmured Harriett. "He is married to her. He never
was married to you."

Ruth began hotly to speak, but checked it with a laugh and sat there
regarding her sister in silence. When she spoke after that her voice was
singularly calm. "I'm glad to know this, Harriett; glad to know just
what your ideas are--yours and Edgar's and Cyrus's. You have done
something for me, after all. For I've grieved a great deal, Harriett,
for the things I lost, and you see I won't do that any more. I see
now--see what those things are. I see that I don't want them."

Harriett had colored at that, and her hand was fumbling in the little
patch of clover. When she looked up at Ruth there were tears in her
eyes. "But what could we do, Ruth?" she asked, gently, a little
reproachfully. "We wanted to do something--what else could we do?"

Her tone touched Ruth. After all, what else--Harriett being as she
was--could she do? Monstrous as the proposal seemed to her, it was
Harriett's w