t yourself?"

"We'll have to think it over," Ruth answered. "It isn't so very simple
after all."

Miss Ainslie was waiting for them in the garden and came to the gate to
meet them. She wore a gown of lavender taffeta, which rustled and shone
in the sunlight. The skirt was slightly trained, with a dust ruffle
underneath, and the waist was made in surplice fashion, open at the
throat. A bertha of rarest Brussels lace was fastened at her neck with
the amethyst pin, inlaid with gold and surrounded by baroque pearls. The
ends of the bertha hung loosely and under it she had tied an apron of
sheerest linen, edged with narrow Duchesse lace. Her hair was coiled
softly on top of her head, with a string of amethysts and another of
pearls woven among the silvery strands.

"Welcome to my house," she said, smiling, Winfield at once became her
slave. She talked easily, with that exquisite cadence which makes each
word seem like a gift, but there was a certain subtle excitement in
her manner, which Ruth did not fail to perceive. When Winfield was
not looking at Miss Ainslie, her eyes rested upon him with a wondering
hunger, mingled with tenderness and fear.

Midsummer lay upon the garden and the faint odour of mignonette
and lavender came with every wandering wind. White butterflies and
thistledown floated in the air, bees hummed drowsily, and the stately
hollyhocks swayed slowly back and forth.

"Do you know why I asked you to come today?" She spoke to Ruth, but
looked at Winfield.

"Why, Miss Ainslie?"

"Because it is my birthday--I am fifty-five years old."

Ruth's face mirrored her astonishment. "You don't look any older than I
do," she said.

Except for the white hair, it was true. Her face was as fresh as a rose
with the morning dew upon it, and even on her neck, where the folds of
lace revealed a dazzling whiteness, there were no lines.

"Teach us how to live, Miss Ainslie," said Winfield, softly, "that the
end of half a century may find us young."

A delicate pink suffused her cheeks and she turned her eyes to his.
"I've just been happy, that's all," she answered.

"It needs the alchemist's touch," he said, "to change our sordid world
to gold."

"We can all learn," she replied, "and even if we don't try, it comes to
us once."

"What?" asked Ruth.

"Happiness--even if it isn't until the end. In every life there is a
perfect moment, like a flash of sun. We can shape our days by that, if
we will--before by f