s, to hear voices, her
own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic. The world
had grown dark and wide, and she was very small. Doubts began to
rise up all about her, plucking at her confidence. Could she go
through with it? She must. She would never, never go back.

As usual the substantive sister--Prudence--did all the talking for
the pair; Angelina, the shadow, offered only her submitting nods.
Sometimes she missed her cue and nodded affirmatively when the
gesture should have been the reverse; and Prudence would send her a
sharp glance of disapproval. Angelina's distress over these
mischances was pathetic.

None of this by-play escaped Ruth, whose sense of humour needed no
developing. That she possessed any sense of humour was in itself
one of those human miracles which metaphysicians are always
pothering over without arriving anywhere; for her previous
environment had been particularly humourless. But if she smiled at
all it was with her eyes. To-night she could have hugged both the
old maids.

"Somebody ought to get hold of that young man," said Prudence,
grimly, as she nodded in Spurlock's direction. "Look at him!"

Ruth looked. He was draining a glass, and as he set it down he
shuddered. A siphon and a whisky bottle stood before him. He
measured out the portion of another peg, the bottle wavering in his
hand. His food lay untouched about his plate. There was no disgust
in Ruth's heart, only an infinite pity; for only the pitiful
understand.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"I have no sympathy," replied Prudence, "with a man who
deliberately fuddles himself with strong drink."

"You would, if you had seen what I have. Men in this part of the
world drink to forget the things they have lost."

"And what should a young man like this one have to forget?"
Prudence demanded to know.

"I wonder," said Ruth. "Couldn't you speak to him?"

"What?--and be insulted for my trouble? No, thank you!"

"That is it. You complain of a condition, but you leave the
correction to someone else."

The spinster had no retort to offer such directness. This child was
frequently disconcerting. Prudence attacked her chicken wing.

"If I spoke to him, my interest might be misinterpreted."

"Where did you go to school?" Prudence asked, seeking a new
channel, for the old one appeared to be full of hidden reefs.

"I never went to school."

"But you are educated!"--astonished.

"That depends upon what you call educated.