Amy drew herself up; her head went a little higher, her lips tightened; then, conscious of that, she relaxed and stood a little apart, seeming only to be courteously listening to a thing in which she had no part. They talked in lowered tones of how strange it seemed to feel Ruth was back in that town. They had a different manner now--a sort of carefully restrained avidity. "How does she look?" one of the women asked in that lowered tone. "Well," said the woman who had been at the train, "she hasn't kept herself _up_. Really, I was surprised. You'd think a woman in her position would make a particular effort to--to make the most of herself, now, wouldn't you? What else has she to go on? But really, she wasn't at all good style, and sort of--oh, as if she had let herself _go_, I thought. Though,"--she turned to Edith in saying this--"there's that same old thing about her; I saw her smile up at Ted as they walked away--and she seemed all different then. You know how it always used to be with Ruth--so different from one minute to another." Edith turned away, rather abruptly, and joined another group. Amy could not make out her look; it seemed--why it seemed pain; as if it hurt her to hear what they were saying. Could it be that she still _cared_?--after the way she had been treated? That seemed impossible, even in one who had the sweet nature Mrs. Blair certainly had. While the women about her were still talking of Ruth Holland, Amy saw Stuart Williams' wife come out of the dining room and stand there alone for a minute looking about the room. It gave her a shock. The whole thing seemed so terrible, so fascinatingly terrible. And it seemed unreal; as a thing one might read or hear about, but not the sort of thing one's own life would come anywhere near. Mrs. Williams' eyes rested on their little group and Amy had a feeling that somehow she knew what they were talking about. As her eyes followed the other woman's about the room she saw that there were several groups in which people were drawn a little closer together and appeared to be speaking a little more intimately than was usual upon such an occasion. She felt that Mrs. Williams' face became more impassive. A moment later she had come over to Amy and was holding out her hand. There seemed to Amy something very brave about her, dignified, fine, in the way she went right on, bearing it, holding her own place, keeping silence. She watched her leave the room with a new sense of outrage against that terrible woman--that woman Deane stood up for! The resentment which in the past week she had been trying to put down leaped to new life.