e "that way"--the way she had told Edith
she did not think of him. But "that way" drew her from thoughts of
Deane. She had stopped before her dressing-table and was toying with her
manicure things. She looked at herself in the glass and saw the color
coming to her cheeks. She sat there dreaming--such dreams as float
through girlhood.

Her mother came in to see how she looked. Mrs. Holland was a small,
frail-looking woman. Ruth resembled her, but with much added. Things
caught into Ruth were not in her mother. They resembled each other in
certain definite things, but there was something that flushed Ruth to
life--transforming her--that did not live in her mother. They were alike
as a beautiful shell enclosing a light may be like one that is not
lighted. Mrs. Holland was much occupied with the social life of her
town. She was light-hearted, well-liked. She went to the teas and card
parties which abounded there and accepted that as life with no
dissatisfaction beyond a mild desire for more money.

She also enjoyed the social life of her daughter; where Ruth was to go
and what she would wear were matters of interest and importance. Indeed
life was compounded of matters concerning where one would go and what
one would wear.

"Well, Sally Gordon certainly did well with that dress," was her
verdict. "Some think she's falling off. Now do try and not get it
spoiled the first thing, Ruth. Dancing is so hard on your clothes."

She surveyed her daughter with satisfaction. Ruth was a daughter a
mother would survey with satisfaction. The strong life there was in her
was delicately and subtly suggested. She did not have what are thought
to be the easily distinguishable marks of intense feeling. She suggested
fine things--a rare, high quality. She was not out-and-out beautiful;
her beauty lurked within her feeling. It was her fluidity that made her
lovely. Her hazel eyes were ever changing with light and feeling, eyes
that could wonderfully darken, that glowed in a rush of feeling and
shone in expectancy or delight,--eyes that the spirit made. She had a
lovely brow, a sensitive, beautiful mouth. But it needed the light
within to find her beauty. Without it she was only a sweet-looking,
delicately fashioned girl.

"That's Deane," said Ruth, as the bell rang.

"I want to see him too," said Mrs. Holland, "and so will your father."

Ruth met him in the hall, holding out both hands with, "Deane, I'm _so_
glad to see you!"

He was