r way gave her
so warm a feeling that often she would impulsively propose things
letting her in for future complications.

As she was saying goodnight there was another moment of wanting terribly
to cry. They were so good to her, so loving--and what would they think
if they knew? Her voice was curiously gentle in taking leave of them;
there was pain in that feeling of something that removed her from these
friends who cared for her, who were so good to her.

She asked Deane if he hadn't something else to do for an hour, someone
to run in and see while she visited with Harriett. When he readily fell
in with that, saying he hadn't been to the Bennetts' since coming home
and that it would be a good time to go there, she grew suddenly gay,
joking with him in a half tender little way, a sort of affectionate
bantering that was the closest they came to intimacy.

And then at the very last, after one thing and then another had been
disposed of, and just as her whole being was fairly singing with relief
and anticipation, the whole thing was threatened and there was another
of those moments of actually hating one who was dear to her.

They had about reached the corner near Harriett's where she was going to
insist Deane leave her for the Bennetts' when they came upon her brother
Ted, slouching along, whistling, flipping in his hand the letter he was
taking to his grandfather's old friend.

"Hello," he said, "where y' goin'?"

"Just walking," said Ruth, and able to say it with a carelessness that
surprised her.

"Oh," said Ted, with a nonchalance that made her want to scream out some
awful thing at him, "thought maybe you were making for Harriett's. She
ain't home."

She would like to have pushed him away! She would have liked to push him
way off somewhere! She dug her nails down into her palm; she could
hardly control the violent, ugly feeling that wanted to leap out at
him--at this "kid brother" whom she adored. Why need he have said just
_that_?--that particular thing, of all things! But she was saying in
calm elderly sister fashion, "Don't lose that letter, Ted," and to
Deane, as they walked on, "Harriett's at a neighbor's; I'll run in for
her; she's expecting me to."

But it left her weak; her legs were trembling, her heart pounding; there
seemed no power left at the center of her for holding herself in one.

And now she was rid of Deane! She had shaken them all off; for that
little time she was free! She hurried to