"Ruth is a dear girl, Philip, and has as much firmness of purpose as

ever, but don't you see she has just discovered that she is fond of

society? Don't you let her see you are selfish about it, is my advice."

The last evening they were to spend in Fallkill, they were at the

Montagues, and Philip hoped that he would find Ruth in a different mood.

But she was never more gay, and there was a spice of mischief in her eye

and in her laugh. "Confound it," said Philip to himself, "she's in a

perfect twitter."

He would have liked to quarrel with her, and fling himself out of the

house in tragedy style, going perhaps so far as to blindly wander off

miles into the country and bathe his throbbing brow in the chilling rain

of the stars, as people do in novels; but he had no opportunity. For

Ruth was as serenely unconscious of mischief as women can be at times,

and fascinated him more than ever with her little demurenesses and

half-confidences. She even said "Thee" to him once in reproach for a

cutting speech he began. And the sweet little word made his heart beat

like a trip-hammer, for never in all her life had she said "thee" to him

before.

Was she fascinated with Harry's careless 'bon homie' and gay assurance?

Both chatted away in high spirits, and made the evening whirl along in

the most mirthful manner. Ruth sang for Harry, and that young gentleman

turned the leaves for her at the piano, and put in a bass note now and

241

The Gilded Age