er face. Before either could speak, she was gone.

Though Ruth was very much annoyed, the incident seemingly served to
accentuate Winfield's enjoyment. The sound of wheels on the gravel
outside told them that she was continuing her excursion.

"I'm going to discharge her to-morrow," Ruth said.

"You can't--she is in Miss Hathaway's service, not yours. Besides,
what has she done? She came back, probably, after something she had
forgotten. You have no reasonable ground for discharging her, and I
think you'd be more uncomfortable if she went than if she stayed."

"Perhaps you're right," she admitted.

"I know how you feel about it," he went on, "but I hope you won't let
her distress you. It doesn't make a bit of difference to me; she's only
amusing. Please don't bother about it."

"I won't," said Ruth, "that is, I'll try not to."

They piled the dishes in the sink, "as a pleasant surprise for Hepsey,"
he said, and the hours passed as if on wings. It was almost ten o'clock
before it occurred to Winfield that his permanent abode was not Miss
Hathaway's parlour.

As they stood at the door, talking, the last train came in. "Do you
know," said Winfield, "that every night, just as that train comes in,
your friend down there puts a candle in her front window?"

"Well," rejoined Ruth, sharply, "what of it? It's a free country, isn't
it?"

"Very. Untrammelled press and highly independent women. Good night, Miss
Thorne. I'll be up the first thing in the morning."

She was about to speak, but slammed the door instead, and was displeased
when she heard a smothered laugh from outside.

IX. By Humble Means

As lightly as a rose petal upon the shimmering surface of a stream,
Summer was drifting away, but whither, no one seemed to care. The odour
of printer's ink upon the morning paper no longer aroused vain longings
in Winfield's breast, and Ruth had all but forgotten her former
connection with the newspaper world.

By degrees, Winfield had arranged a routine which seemed admirable.
Until luncheon time, he was with Ruth and, usually, out of doors,
according to prescription. In the afternoon, he went up again, sometimes
staying to dinner, and, always, he spent his evenings there.

"Why don't you ask me to have my trunk sent up here?" he asked Ruth, one
day.

"I hadn't thought of it," she laughed. "I suppose it hasn't seemed
necessary."

"Miss Hathaway would be pleased, wouldn't she, if she knew she had two
gues