ear Miss
Vars, but oh, her complexion! Really I couldn't drink tea with Miss
Armstrong. I never tried it, but I'm sure it would not have been
pleasant. You have such pretty coloring, my dear. Shan't I call you Ruth
some day?"

Spontaneously it burst out. I had never had the affection of an older
woman. I grasped it.

"Do, yes, do call me Ruth," I exclaimed.

I had once believed I could please this difficult woman. I had not been
mistaken. It was proved. I did please her. She called me Ruth!

I wrote her letters for her, I kept her expenses, I cut her coupons, I
all but signed her generous checks to charitable institutions. Most
willingly I advised her in regard to them. She sent five hundred dollars
to Esther Claff's settlement house in the Jewish quarter on my
suggestion, and bought one of Rosa's paintings, which she gave to me.
She wanted me to go with her to her dressmaker's and her milliner's. She
consulted me in regard to a room she wanted to redecorate, a bronze that
she was considering. She finally confided in me her rheumatism and her
diabetes. I was with her every day. Always after her late breakfast
served in her room, she sent for me. After all it wasn't surprising. I
should have to be very dull and drab indeed not to have become her
friend. I was the only one in her whole establishment whom she wasn't
obliged to treat as servant and menial.

[Illustration: "I was the only one in her whole establishment whom she
wasn't obliged to treat as a servant and menial"--_Page 203_]

Of everything we talked, even of Breckenridge--of Breckenridge as a
baby, a boy, a college-man. She explained his inheritance, his
weaknesses, his virtues. She spoke of Gale Oliphant and the interrupted
marriage. Once--once only--she referred to me.

"Oh, dear, oh, dear," she began one day with a sigh, "'the best-laid
plans of mice and men'----Oh, dear, oh, dear! Sometimes I think I have
made a great many mistakes in my life. For instance, my son--this
Breckenridge I talk so much about--he, well, he became very fond of some
one I opposed. A nice girl--a girl of high principles. Oh, yes. But not
the girl whom his mother had happened to select for him. No. His mother
wished him to marry his second cousin--this Gale you've heard me speak
of--Gale Oliphant. Breckenridge was fond of her--always had been. She
was worth millions, _millions_!

"You see, a short time before Breckenridge formed the attachment for the
young lady with the hi