of feeling between her betrothed and
herself, but up to this moment she had never doubted that her own
shortcomings were wholly to blame. She hurriedly drew her thin skirt
closer about her, nervously trying to make room for him between David
and herself. The boy and doctor rose to their feet as the two men
approached. Ruth sat still on the grass, lifting her blue eyes to
William Pressley's face with a timid, wistful, almost frightened glance.
"You have met Doctor Colbert, William," she said quickly, and then she
turned with a smile that was like a flash of light. "And uncle
Philip--Mr. Alston--this is the doctor."
Paul Colbert in his utter amazement took the hand which Philip Alston
held out. He could not have refused it had there been time to think, for
her eyes were on him, and there was no doubting her affection for Philip
Alston; that shone like sunlight on her face and thrilled in every
tender tone of her voice. The young doctor could scarcely believe the
evidence of his own eyes and ears. This Philip Alston! It was
incredible, impossible; there was certainly some mistake. Nevertheless
he hastily withdrew his hand and Philip Alston noted the haste,
understanding it as well as Paul Colbert himself. His own manner was
quiet and calm, showing none of the irritation which he felt at William
Pressley's negligence. He lost none of his graciousness through seeing
the young doctor's involuntary recoil. His intuitions were unerring; he
knew instantly that this newcomer was already acquainted with the
stories told about himself, but he cared little for that. He was
considering the interference with his plans which might come from the
sudden appearance of a young man of this young doctor's looks and
intelligence. Hardly half a dozen commonplace remarks had been exchanged
between them before he had recognized the unusual power of mind and body
which he might soon have to contend with. He turned and looked at
William Pressley and then back at Paul Colbert with a clouded brow, but
he glanced down with a smile when Ruth touched his arm.
"Dearest uncle Philip," she said, "I am so--so--glad that you have come.
You are just in time to dance with me. You did once, you know, at the
May party, and none of the other girls had so courtly a partner. They
couldn't have because I wouldn't let them have you. I should be jealous
if you were to dance with any one else, and there is no one anywhere
like you."
Looking up with her eyes f
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