“Well, n—no!” answered Mrs. Carter, glancing through the window at her two servants perched high upon the carriage, and softly pluming herself under the thought of all they represented, “one can’t quite expect that. When a dog gets his day he likes to keep it, of course. Besides, it’s awful hard to come down.” “Yes,” said Mrs. Laurence, in her dull, low tone, “it is hard.” “But this young lady is not all your family? My brother spoke of another.” “That is Eva,” said Ruth, with animation. “She is busy in the day-time.” “Yes, yes!—now I remember: of course, she could not be here now. An awful bright girl. I saw her once: pretty as a pictur! took a fancy to the turn of her head. My! how she does carry off a shawl! That girl is what I call superb!” “She is good!” said Mrs. Laurence, with hard emphasis. “Yes, good as gold, I haven’t no doubt,” chimed in Mrs. Carter. “That is why I have called. ‘That girl is a born lady,’ says I to Carter, when we were making out a list of invitations for my great party, ‘and I am bound to have her come.’ So here is the invitation! Brought it myself, because brother Ross said a call was necessary, and I want to do everything _comme il fou_!” Here Mrs. Carter took a squarely-folded envelope from her pocket, on which was a flaming monogram in red and gold, which she held out to Mrs. Laurence, who took it gingerly, as if she feared the fiery letters would burn her. “If this young lady ever goes out, I have another for her,” said the visitor, beaming with satisfaction. “I never do,” said Ruth, with a faint quiver of pain in her voice. “Spine?” questioned her visitor. Ruth bent her head a little from the pillow, and a look of sadness came into her eyes. “Don’t look down-hearted about it, my dear; you’ll soon get about again. I feel sure that I’ve got a receipt for spine complaint somewhere, and I’ll send it to you.” Ruth smiled very mournfully, but thanked her. “It’s you, I suppose, that’s beginning to make picters. Ross told me about it, and I promised to have some done for my boudoir. Those I have cost ever-so-much, but he don’t seem to like ’em. ‘Something small and delicate,’ he says; such as you can do beautifully if I’ll only give you time—which I’m bound to do.” The warm, pure blood flashed over that gentle face, and Ruth half rose from her pillow in overwhelming surprise. “You do not mean it! Did the gentleman in truth think anything of the little things I sent to him. He asked me, or I would not have dared.”