ot that she had tried and
failed; that form of it would have been an infinite relief; she simply
had not tried, and she made herself honestly confess to herself that
the trouble was, she could not be satisfied with one who was within the
reach of her asking.

Yet conscience, working all alone, is a very uncomfortable and
disagreeable companion, and often accomplishes for the time being
nothing beyond making his victim disagreeable. This was Ruth to the
fullest extent of her power; she realized it, and in a measure felt
ashamed of herself, and struggled a little for a better state of mind.

It seemed ill payment for the courtesy which had made Harold Wayne
forsake the club before supper for the purpose of walking home with her
from church. He was unusually kind, too, and patient. Part of her
trouble, be it known, was her determination in her heart not to be
driven by that dreadful conscience into saying a single personal word to
Harold Wayne. Not that she put it in that way; bless you, no! Satan
rarely blunders enough to speak out plainly; he has a dozen
smooth-sounding phrases that mean the same thing.

"People need to be approached very carefully on very special occasions,
which are not apt to occur; they need to be approached by just such
persons, and in just such well-chosen words," etc. etc.

Though why it should require such infinite tact and care and skill to
say to a friend, "I wish you were going to heaven with me," when the
person would say without the slightest hesitation, "I wish you were
going to Europe with me," and be accounted an idiot if he made talk
about tact and skill and caution, I am sure I don't know.

Yet all these things Ruth said to herself. The reason the thought
ruffled her was because her honest conscience knew they were false, and
that she had a right to say, "Harold, I _wish_ you were a Christian;"
and had no right at all with the results.

She simply could not bring herself to say it; she did not really know
why, herself; probably Satan did.

Mr. Wayne was unusually quiet and grave; he seemed to be doing what he
could to lead Ruth into serious talk; he asked about the meeting,
whether there were many out, and whether she enjoyed it.

"I sort of like Dr. Dennis," he said. "He is tremendously in earnest;
but why shouldn't a man be in earnest if he believes what he is talking
about. Do you suppose he does, Ruth?"

"Of course," Ruth said, shortly, almost crossly; "you know he does. W