"I suppose _you_ would think," she flamed, "that they ought to have met
her at the train!"

"The idea doesn't seem to me preposterous," he answered.

Feeling the coldness in his own voice he realized how he was at the very
start getting away from the thing he wanted to do, was estranging Amy by
his resentment of her feeling about a thing she did not understand.
After all--as before, he quickly made this excuse for her--what more
natural than that she should take on the feeling of these people she was
thrown with, particularly when they were so very kindly in their
reception of her?

"Dear," he began again, "I saw Ruth this afternoon. She seems so alone
there. She's gone through such--such hard things. It's a pretty sad
homecoming for her. I'm going over there again this evening, and, Amy
dear, I do so want you to go with me."

Amy did not reply. He had not looked at her after he began speaking--not
wanting to lose either his courage or his temper in seeing that
stiffening in her. He did not look at her now, even though she did not
speak.

"I want you to go, Amy. I ask you to. I want it--you don't know how
much. I'm terribly sorry for Ruth. I knew her very well, we were very
close friends. Now that she is here, and in trouble--and so lonely--I
want to take my wife to see her."

As even then she remained silent, he turned to her. She sat very
straight; red spots burned in her cheeks and there was a light in her
eyes he had never seen there before. She pushed back her chair
excitedly. "And may I ask,"--her voice was high, tight,--"if you see
nothing insulting to your wife in this--proposal?"

For an instant he just stared at her. "Insulting?" he faltered. "I--I--"
He stopped, helpless, and helplessly sat looking at her, sitting erect,
breathing fast, face and eyes aflame with anger. And in that moment
something in his heart fell back; a desire that had been dear to him, a
thing that had seemed so beautiful and so necessary, somehow just crept
back where it could not be so much hurt. At the sight of her, hard,
scornful, so sure in her hardness, that high desire of his love that she
share his feeling fell back. And then to his disappointment was added
anger for Ruth; through the years anger against so many people had
leaped up in him because of their hardness to Ruth, that, as if of
itself, it leaped up against Amy now.

"No," he said, his voice hard now too, "I must say I see nothing
insulting in asking you to