"My strong, brave Homer. There is none like him for strength, with all his gentle perfume folded close to his heart. I used to think these Duchesses would suit him best; but now, having seen you, I know they were too frail, --Marechal Niel." It was impossible to resent openly the boy's musings; but with a quick insistence that stemmed the current of his thoughts, she said,-- "Tell me where you suffer, Bob."
"I do not suffer. I am only weak; but he is nourishing me, and Mrs. Mills brings me what he orders."
"And is there anything you would like to have of which you forgot to tell him?"
"I never tell him anything I wish," replied the boy, proudly. "He knows beforehand. Did you never draw up close to a delicate flower, lay your cheek softly upon it, so, --close your eyes, so, --and listen to the tale it's telling? Well, that is what my good friend does always."
It was like listening to music to hear the slow, drawling words of the invalid. Ruth's hand closed softly over his.
"I have some pretty stories at home about flowers," she said; "would you like to read them?"
"I can't read very well," answered Bob, in unabashed simplicity.
Yet his spoken words were flawless.
"Then I shall read them to you," she answered pleasantly, "to-morrow, Bob, say at about three."
"You will come again?" The heavy mouth quivered in eager surprise.
"Why, yes; now that I know you, I must know you better. May I come?"
"Oh, lady!"
Ruth went out enveloped in that look of gratitude. It was the first directly personal expression of honest gratitude she had ever received; and as she walked down the hill, she longed to do something that would be really helpful to some one. She had led, on the whole, so far, an egotistic life. Being their only child, her parents expected much of her.
During her school-life she had been a sort of human reservoir for all her father's ideas, whims, and hobbies. True, he had made her take a wide interest in everything within the line of vision; hanging on his arm, as they wandered off daily in their peripatetic school, he had imbued her with all his manly nobility of soul. But theorizing does not give much hold on a subject, the mind being taken up with its own clever elucidations. For the past six months, after a year's travel in Europe, her mother had led her on in a whirl of what she called happiness. Ruth had soon gauged the worth of this surface-life, and now that a lull had come, she realized that what she needed was some interest outside of herself, --an interest which the duties of a mere society girl do not allow to develop to a real good.
A plan slowly formed itself in her mind, in which she became so engrossed that she unconsciously crossed the cable of the Jackson Street cars. She did not turn till a hand was suddenly laid upon her arm.
"What are you doing in this part of town?" broke in Louis Arnold's voice in evident anger.
"Oh, Louis, how you startled me! What is the matter with this part of town?"
"You are on a very disreputable street. Where are you going?"
"Home."
"Then be so kind as to turn back with me and take the cars."
She glanced at him quickly, unused to his tone of command, and turned with him.
"How do you happen to be here?" he asked shortly.
"Dr. Kemp took me to see a poor patient of his."
"Dr. Kemp?" surprise raised his eyebrows half an inch.
"Yes."
"Indeed! Then," he continued in cool, biting words, "why didn't he carry his charity a little farther and take you home again?"
"Because I did not choose to go with him," she returned, rearing her head and looking calmly at him as they walked along.
"Bah! What had your wishing or not wishing to do with it? The man knew where he had taken you even if you did not know. This quarter is occupied by nothing but negroes and foreign loafers. It was decidedly ungentlemanly to leave you to return alone at this time of the evening."
"Probably he gave me credit for being able to take care of myself in broad daylight."
"Probably he never gave it a second's thought one way or the other.
Hereafter you had better consult your natural protectors before starting out on Quixotic excursions with indifferent strangers."
"Louis!"
She actually stamped her little foot while walking.
"Well?"
"Stop that, please. You are not my keeper."
Her cousin smiled quizzically. They took their seats on the dummy, just as the sun, a golden ball, was about to glide behind Lone Mountain. Late afternoon is a quiet time, and Ruth and Louis did not speak for a while.
The girl was experiencing a whirl of conflicting emotions, --anger at Louis's interference, pleasure at his protecting care, annoyance at what he considered gross negligence on the doctor's part, and a sneaking pride, in defiance of his insinuations, over the thought that Kemp had trusted to her womanliness as a safeguard against any chance annoyance. She also felt ashamed at having showed temper.
"Louis," she ventured finally, rubbing her shoulder against his, as gentle animals conciliate their mates, "I am sorry I spoke so harshly; but it exasperates me to hear you cast slurs, as you have done before, upon Dr.
Kemp in his absence."
"Why should it, my dear, since it give you a chance to uphold him?"
There is a way of saying "my dear" that is as mortifying as a slap in the face.
The dark blood surged over the girl's cheeks. She drew a long, hard breath, and then said in a low voice,-- "I think we will not quarrel, Louis. Will you get off at the next corner with me? I have a prescription to be made up at the drug-store."
"Certainly."
If Arnold had showed anger, he was man enough not to be ashamed of it; this is one of man's many lordly rights.
