r manner.

"You say that as if it were a daily occurrence for a man like Louis
Arnold to offer you his hand and name."

"I hope not."

"But you do. I confess I think you are not one tenth as excited as I am.
Why didn't you tell me before? Any other girl would have sat up to tell
her mother in the night. Oh, Ruth darling, I am so glad. I have been
looking forward to this ever since you grew up. What did you mean by
saying you wished to wait till you had decided? Decided what?"

"Upon my answer."

"As if you could question it, you fortunate girl! Or were you waiting
for me to help you to it? I scarcely need tell you how you have been
honored."

"Honor is not everything, Mamma."

At that moment a desperate longing for her mother's sympathy seized
her; but the next minute the knowledge of the needless sorrow it would
occasion came to her, and her lips remained closed.

"No," responded her mother, "and you have more than that; surely Louis
did not neglect to tell you."

"You mean his love, I suppose,--yes, I have that."

"Then what else would you have? You probably know that he can give you
every luxury within reason,--so much for honest practicality. As to
Louis himself, the most fastidious could find nothing to cavil at,--he
will make you a perfect husband. You are familiar enough with him to
know his faults; but no man is faultless. I hope you are not so silly
as to expect some girlish ideal,--for all the ideals died in the Golden
Age, you know."

"As mine did. No; I have outgrown imagination in that line."

"Then why do you hesitate?" Her mother's eyes were shining; her face
was alive with the excitement of hope fulfilled. "Is there anything else
wanting?"

"No," she responded dully; "but let us not talk about it any more,
please. I must see Louis again, you know."

"If your father were here, he could help you better, dear;" there was no
reproach in Mrs. Levice's gentle acceptance of the fact; "he will be so
happy over it. There, kiss me, girlie; I know you like to think things
out in silence, and I shall not say another word about it till you give
me leave."

She kept her word. The dreary afternoon dragged on. By four o-clock it
was growing dark, and Mrs. Levice became restless.

"I am going to my room to write to your father now,--he shall have a
good scolding for the non-receipt of a letter to-day;" and forthwith she
betook herself upstairs.

Ruth closed her book and moved restlessly about the r