s becoming more than a match
for her will. She was half way across the room, when she halted, swayed,
and crumpled up in a little helpless heap. Graham was too late to save
her from falling, but he had her in his arms almost as soon as she
touched the floor, and carried her to the couch, turning pale himself at
the sight of her colorless face.

From all directions the girls came running. As usual, Peggy took
command.

"She's fainted, Graham, that's all. Bring some water. We must get the
sofa cushions out from under her head. Bring that palm-leaf fan, Amy.
There, she's coming to already."

The eyelids of the forlorn heroine had indeed fluttered encouragingly. A
moment later Ruth opened her eyes. As her languid gaze travelled around
the circle of faces, she saw consternation written on each one. Peggy
patted her hand tenderly.

"Don't try to speak, darling. You fainted, that's all."

"Could you drink a little water, dearie," coaxed Priscilla, bending over
her, glass in hand.

"Here, let me lift her." Graham rushed forward, thankful for the
opportunity to do something, as he found the sense of helplessness
characteristic of his sex in all such crises extremely galling.

Ruth felt it incumbent on herself to relieve the general anxiety. "It's
only one of my headaches," she explained faintly. "I ought to have given
up to it. But I hated to spoil Graham's last day."

There was a little chorus of mingled disapproval and admiration. "You
dear plucky thing!" cried Peggy. "And here I've been ordering you around
all the morning. Those pan-cakes must have been torture."

"As if Jack and I wouldn't have waited over another day!" exclaimed
Graham in a tone of disgust. "We'd rather have waited a week, than have
you put yourself through like this," He smoothed her ruffled hair with
awkward tenderness, and Amy, carried away by her emotions, fanned so
vehemently that she tapped the patient on the nose, and was sharply
reprimanded.

The tears Ruth had been holding back all the morning could no longer be
restrained. They overran her trembling lids, and streamed down her
cheeks. The little murmurs of soothing sympathy were redoubled, though
Graham walked off quickly to the window and stood looking out with a
stern, fixed gaze, as if the landscape had suddenly become of absorbing
interest. But Ruth's tears were not wrung from her by suffering. They
were tears of penitence and honest shame. How dear and kind every one
was! How cru