Oh, Lucy, what an unnatural girl I am! I don't admire
myself for it. I wish I could be what Bob thinks, but I can't. I can't."

"You aren't unnatural. You're just as human as you can be, Ruth. I felt
just the way you do before I was married, and most every girl does as
young as you, too. Bob ought to give you chance to grow up."

"Grow up! Oh, Lucy, I feel so old! I feel used up and put by already.
I've lived my life and haven't I made a botch of it?" She laughed
shortly. "And what shall I do with the botch now? I can't stay here. It
would break my heart to stay here where I had hoped to be so
happy--everything reminding me, you know. No, I can't stay here."

"Of course you can't, Ruth. We'll think of a way."

"And I simply can't go back to Edith," she went on, "after knowing Bob.
I don't want to go out to Michigan with Tom and Elise. I hate Michigan.
Dear me! I don't know what I shall do. I'm discouraged. Once I was eager
and confident, filled with enthusiasm and self-pride. Like that old
hymn, you know. How does it go? 'I loved to choose my path and see, but
now lead Thou me on. I loved the garish day, and spite of fears, Pride
ruled my will. Remember not past years.' That is what I repeat over and
over to myself. 'Lead, kindly light, amidst th' encircling gloom.' The
encircling gloom! Oh, dear!" She suddenly broke off, "I wish morning
would come." It did finally, and with it, when the approaching sun began
to pinken the eastern sky, sleep for my tormented sister.

CHAPTER XVI

A FAMILY CONFERENCE

We all were seated about the table at one of Edith's sumptuous Sunday
dinners at the Homestead when Ruth broke her news to the family. Tom had
come East on a business trip, and was spending Sunday with Alec in
Hilton; so Edith telephoned to all of us within motoring distance and
invited us up for "Sunday dinner." This was two or three days after Ruth
had told me that she and Bob were not to be married.

"Oh, yes, I'll go," she nodded, when I had clapped my hand over the
receiver and turned to her questioningly, and afterward she said to me,
"Concealing my feelings is one of the accomplishments my education _has_
included. I'll go. I shan't tell them about Bob yet. I can't seem to
just now."

I was therefore rather surprised when she suddenly abandoned her
play-acting. She hadn't figured on the difficult requirements, I
suppose, poor child. Bluff and genial Tom, grown rather gray and stout
and bald now, had