A mist came into the old man's eyes, and he put his hand to his belt again, but she hurriedly led Winfield away. “Ruth,” he said, as they went down the hill, “you're a sweet girl. That was real womanly kindness to the poor devil.” “Shall I be equally kind to all 'poor devils'?” “There's one more who needs you--if you attend to him properly, it will be enough.” “I don't see how they're going to get Aunty's silk gown and a ring like mine and a haircloth parlour suit and publish a book with less than two hundred dollars, do you?” “Hardly--Joe says that he gave Hepsey ten dollars. There's a great discussion about the spending of it.” “I didn't know--I feel guilty.” “You needn't, darling. There was nothing else for you to do. How did you succeed with your delicate mission?” “I managed it,” she said proudly. “I feel that I was originally destined for a diplomatic career.” He laughed when she described the lemonade set which she had promised in his name. “I'll see that the furniture is shipped tomorrow,” he assured her; “and then I'll go on a still hunt for the gaudy glassware. I'm blessed if I don't give 'em a silver ice pitcher, too.” “I'm in for a table-cloth and a dozen napkins,” laughed Ruth; “but I don't mind. We won't bury Uncle's wedding present, will we?” “I should say not! Behold the effect of the card, long before it's printed.” “I know,” said Ruth, seriously, “I'll get a silver spoon or something like that out of the twenty dollars, and then I'll spend the rest of it on something nice for Uncle James. The poor soul isn't getting any wedding present, and he'll never know.” “There's a moral question involved in that,” replied Winfield. “Is it right to use his money in that way and assume the credit yourself?” “We'll have to think it over,” Ruth answered. “It isn't so very simple after all.” Miss Ainslie was waiting for them in the garden and came to the gate to meet them. She wore a gown of lavender taffeta, which rustled and shone in the sunlight. The skirt was slightly trained, with a dust ruffle underneath, and the waist was made in surplice fashion, open at the throat. A bertha of rarest Brussels lace was fastened at her neck with the amethyst pin, inlaid with gold and surrounded by baroque pearls. The ends of the bertha hung loosely and under it she had tied an apron of sheerest linen, edged with narrow Duchesse lace. Her hair was coiled softly on top of her head, with a string of amethysts and another of pearls woven among the silvery strands. “Welcome to my house,” she said, smiling, Winfield at once became her slave. She talked easily, with that exquisite cadence which makes each word seem like a gift, but there was a certain subtle excitement in her manner, which Ruth did not fail to perceive. When Winfield was not looking at Miss Ainslie, her eyes rested upon him with a wondering hunger, mingled with tenderness and fear.