ortnight before she bitterly
regretted the step she had taken.

Still there was no going back, for she had given her word, and must stay
there until October. The months before her stretched out into a dreary
waste. She thought of Miss Ainslie gratefully, as a redeeming feature,
but she knew that it was impossible to spend all of her time in the
house--it the foot of the hill.

Half past six had seemed an unearthly hour for breakfast, and yet more
than once Ruth had been downstairs at five o'clock, before Hepsey was
stiring. There was no rest to be had anywhere, even after a long walk
through the woods and fields. Inaction became irritation, and each
day was filled with a thousand unbearable annoyances. She was fretful,
moody, and restless, always wishing herself back in the office, yet
knowing that she could not do good work, even if she were there.

She sat in her room one afternoon, frankly miserable, when Hepsey
stalked in, unannounced, and gave her a card.

"Mr. Carl Winfield!" Ruth repeated aloud. "Some one to see me, Hepsey?"
she asked, in astonishment.

"Yes'm. He's a-waitin' on the piazzer."

"Didn't you ask him to come in?"

"No'm. Miss Hathaway, she don't want no strangers in her house."

"Go down immediately," commanded Ruth, sternly, "ask him into the
parlour, and say that Miss Thorne will be down in a few moments."

"Yes'm."

Hepsey shuffled downstairs with comfortable leisure, opened the door
with aggravating slowness, then said, in a harsh tone that reached the
upper rooms distinctly: "Miss Thorne, she says that you can come in and
set in the parlour till she comes down."

"Thank you," responded a masculine voice, in quiet amusement; "Miss
Thorne is kind--and generous."

Ruth's cheeks flushed hotly. "I don't know whether Miss Thorne will go
down or not," she said to herself. "It's probably a book-agent."

She rocked pensively for a minute or two, wondering what would happen if
she did not go down. There was no sound from the parlour save a subdued
clearing of the throat. "He's getting ready to speak his piece," she
thought, "and he might as well do it now as to wait for me."

Though she loathed Mr. Carl Winfield and his errand, whatever it might
prove to be, she stopped before her mirror long enough to give a pat
or two to her rebellious hair. On the way down she determined to be
dignified, icy, and crushing.

A tall young fellow with a pleasant face rose to greet her as she
entered the