make a helpless, simpering
little idiot out of Ruth if you had your way. She isn't a child. She
isn't an inexperienced young girl. She's capable of keeping out of silly
difficulties. She can be trusted. Let her use her judgment and good
sense a little. It won't hurt her a bit. It will do her good. Don't you
worry about Ruth. She's all right."

"But a girl--a pretty young girl like Ruth--you don't mean to say that
Ruth--Ruth----"

"Yes, I do, too, Bob! And there are lots of girls just as pretty as Ruth
in New York, and just as young, tapping away at typewriters, and
balancing accounts in offices, and running shops of their own, too, in
perfect safety. You're behind the times, Bob. I don't want to be horrid,
but really I'm tired, and if you stay here and talk to me, I warn you
I'm going to be cross."

We were in the house now. Bob had followed me in. I was taking off my
things. He stared at me as I proceeded.

"I didn't see any sense at all in your breaking off your engagement," I
went on. "You both cared for each other. I should have thought----"

"It was inevitable," cut in Bob gravely. "It was inevitable, Lucy."

"Well, then, if it was, Bob, all right. I won't say another word about
it. But now that Ruth is nothing to you----"

"Nothing to me!" he exclaimed.

"Yes, that is what I said--nothing to you," I repeated mercilessly, "I
beg of you don't come here and show approval or disapproval about what
she's up to. Leave her to me now. I'm backing her. I tell you, just as I
told Tom and the others, she's all right. Ruth's _all right_."

But later in my room I wondered--I wondered if Ruth really was all
right. Sitting in my little rocking-chair by the window, sheltered and
protected by kind, familiar walls, I asked myself what Ruth was doing
now. It was nearing the dinner hour. Where would Ruth be eating dinner?
It was growing dark slowly. It would be growing dark in New York. Stars
would be coming out up above the towering skyscrapers, as they were now
above the apple trees in the garden. I thought of Ruth's empty bed
across the hall. Where would she sleep tonight? Oh, Ruth--Ruth--poor,
little sister Ruth!

I remember when you were a little baby wrapped up in soft, pink, knitted
things. The nurse put you in my arms, and I walked very carefully into
my mother's room with you and stood staring down at you asleep. I was
only a little girl, I was afraid I would drop you, and I didn't realize
as I stood there by our