at her
sharply. There was a look in her eyes which reminded me of her as she
had appeared in the suffrage parade. This sister of mine had evidently
seen another vision. If it had made her cheeks a little pale, it had
more than made up for it in the exalted tone of her voice and expression
of her eyes.

"You say you're happier here?" asked Elise. "Weren't you happy then,
down there in New York, Ruth?"

"Yes, for a while. But you see my life was like a circle uncompleted. In
keeping trimmed the lights of a home even though not my own, even only
for a short period, I am tracing in, ever so faintly, the yawning gap."

"Gap! But Ruth, we thought----"

She flushed a little in spite of herself. We were all staring hard at
her. "You see," she went on, "I've never been needed before as I have
this summer. A home has never depended upon me for its life before. I've
liked it. I don't see why you're so surprised. It's natural for a woman
to want human ties. Contentment has stolen over me with every little
common task I have had to do."

"But, Ruth," I stammered, "we never thought that
this--housekeeping--such menial work as this, was meant for _you_."

"Nor love and devotion either, I suppose," she said a little bitterly,
"nor the protection of a fireside," she shrugged. "Such rewards are not
given without service, I've heard. And service paid by love does not
seem menial to me."

Tom laid down his hat upon the table, and leaned forward. He had been
observing Ruth keenly. I saw the flash of victory in his eye. Tom had
never been in sympathy with Ruth's emancipation ideas, and I saw in
her desire for a home and intimate associations the crumbling of her
strongest defense against his disapproval. I wished I could come to
her aid. Always my sympathies had instinctively gone out to her in the
controversies that her theories gave rise to. Would Tom plant at last
his flag upon her long-defended fortress?

"This is odd talk for you, Ruth," said Tom.

"Is it?" she inquired innocently. Did she not observe Tom calling
together his forces for a last charge?

"Certainly," he replied. "You gave up home, love, devotion--all that,
when you might have had it, years ago. You emancipated yourself from
the sort of service that is paid by the protection of a fireside."

"Well?" she smiled, unalarmed.

"You see your mistake now," he hurried on. "You make your mad dash for
freedom, and now come seeking shelter. That is what most of 'em d