of finding them."
"You needn't 'bluff' with me," he retorted. He eyed her suspiciously.
"There's some mystery in this."
Del showed that the chance shot had landed; but, instantly recovering
herself, she said: "It may interest you to know that a while ago, when
I told you I was engaged to him, I felt a little uneasy. You see, I've
had a long course at the same school that has made such a gentleman of
you. But, as the result of your talk and the thoughts it suggested, I
haven't a doubt left. I'd marry Dory Hargrave now, if everybody in the
world opposed me. Yes, the more opposition, the prouder I'll be to be
his wife!"
"What's the matter, children?" came in their mother's voice. "What are
you quarreling about?" Mrs. Ranger was hurrying through the room on her
way to the kitchen; she was too used to heated discussions between them
to be disturbed.
"What do you think of this, mother?" almost shouted Arthur. "Del here
says she's engaged to Dory Hargrave!"
Mrs. Ranger stopped short. "Gracious!" she ejaculated.
She felt for her "specs," drew them down from her hair, and hastily
adjusted them for a good look, first at Arthur, then at Del. She looked
long at Del, who was proudly erect and was at her most beautiful best,
eyes glittering and cheeks aglow. "Have you and Ross had a falling out,
Del?" she asked.
"No, mother," replied Adelaide; "but we--we've broken our engagement,
and--What Artie says is true."
No one spoke for a full minute, though the air seemed to buzz with
the thinking and feeling. Then, Mrs. Ranger: "Your father mustn't
hear of this."
"Leave me alone with mother, Artie," commanded Adelaide.
Arthur went, pausing in the doorway to say: "I'm sorry to have hurt you,
Del. But I meant every word, only not in anger or meanness. I know you
won't do it when you've thought it over."
When Arthur had had time to get far enough away, Adelaide said: "Mother,
I want you to hear the whole truth--or as much of it as I know myself.
Ross came and broke off our engagement so that he could marry Theresa
Howland. And I've engaged myself to Dory--partly to cover it, but not
altogether, I hope. Not principally, I believe. I'm sick and ashamed of
the kind of things I've been so crazy about these last few years. Before
this happened, before Ross came, being with father and thinking over
everything had made me see with different eyes. And I--I want to try to
be--what a woman ought to be."
Ellen Ranger slowly r
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