to be with Deane, wanted to say
things to him that, she did not know just why, there would have been no
satisfaction in saying to Stuart. Even things she had experienced with
Stuart she could, of the two, more easily have talked of with Deane. It
was to Deane she could have talked of the things Stuart made her feel.
Within a certain circle Stuart was the man to whom she came closest;
somehow, with him, she did not break from that circle. She had always
had that feeling of Deane's understanding what she felt, even though it
was not he who inspired the feeling. That seemed a little absurd to
her--to live through things with one man, and have what that living made
of her seem to swing her to some one else.

Thinking of their unique companionship, which time and distance and
circumstances had so little affected, she looked at Deane as he lay
there near her on the grass. She was glad to have this renewal of their
old friendship, which had always remained living and dear to her. And
now she was going away for another long time. It was possible she would
never see him again. It made her wish she could come closer to what were
now the big things in his life.

"I'm so glad, Deane," she said, somewhat timidly, "about you."

He pushed back his hat and looked up in inquiry.

"So glad you got married, goose!" she laughed.

At his laugh for that she looked at him in astonishment, distinctly
shocked. He was chewing a long spear of grass. For a moment he did not
speak. Then, "Amy's gone home," he said shortly.

Ruth could only stare at him, bewildered.

He was running his hand over the grass near him. She noticed that it
moved nervously. And she remarked the puckered brows that had all along
made her think he was worried about something that day--she had thought
it must be one of his cases. And there was that compression of the lips
that she knew of old in Deane when he was hurt. Just then his face
looked actually old, the face of a man who has taken hard things.

"Yes, Amy's gone home for a little while," he said in a more matter of
fact voice, but a voice that had a hard ring. He added: "Her mother's
not well," and looked up at Ruth with that characteristic little
screwing up of his face, as if telling her to make what she could of it.

"Why, that's too bad," she stammered.

Again he looked up at her in that queer way of mixed feeling, his face
showing the marks of pain and yet a touch of teasing there too, mocking
her co