“Why, we have been here only a week!” cried Ruth.  “I am having such a good time, and—­” she broke off impulsively.  “But I know it’s dull for you, Aunt Clara.  You go, and leave me here with Carter.  I’ll do everything you say if you will only let me stay.”

Carter laughed.  “One would think that Ruth’s sole aim in life was to cultivate Clayton—­the distinguished, exclusive, aristocratic society of Clayton.”

She put her hand on his arm and looked at him pleadingly:  “Please don’t laugh at me, Carter!  I love it here, and I want to stay.  You know Aunt Elizabeth; you know what her friends are like.  They think I am queer.  I can’t be happy where they are.”

Mrs. Nelson resorted to her smelling-bottle.  “Of course my opinions are of no weight.  I only wish to remind you that it would be most impolitic to offend your Aunt Elizabeth.  She could introduce you into the most desirable set; and even if she is a little—­” she searched a moment for a word—­“a little liberal in her views, one can overlook that on account of her generosity.  She is a very influential woman, Ruth, and a very wealthy one.”

Ruth made a quick, impatient gesture.  “I don’t like her, Aunt Clara; and I don’t want you to ask me to go there.”

Mrs. Nelson folded her napkin with tragic deliberation.  “Very well,” she said; “it is not my place to urge it.  I can only point out your duty and leave the rest to you.  One thing I must speak about, and that is your associating so familiarly with these townspeople.  They are impertinent; they take advantages, and forget who we are.  Why, the blacksmith had the audacity to refer to the dear major as ‘Bob.’”

“Old Uncle Dan?” asked Ruth, laughing.  “I saw him yesterday, and he shook hands with me and said:  ‘Golly, sissy, how you’ve growed!’”

“Ruth,” cried Mrs. Nelson, “how can you!  Haven’t you any family pride?” The tears came to her eyes, for the invitation to visit the Hunter-Nelsons was one for which she had angled skilfully, and its summary dismissal was a sore trial to her.

In a moment Ruth was at her side, all contrition:  “I’m sorry, Aunt Clara; I know I’m a disappointment to you.  I’ll try—­”

Mrs. Nelson withdrew her hand and directed her injured reply to Carter.  “I have done my duty by your sister.  She has been given every advantage a young lady could desire.  If she insists upon throwing away her opportunities, I can’t help it.  I suppose I am no longer to be consulted—­no longer to be considered.”  She sought the seclusion of her pocket-handkerchief, and her pompadour swayed with emotion.

Ruth stood at the table, miserably pulling a rose to pieces.  This discussion was an old one, but it lost none of its sting by repetition.  Was she queer and obstinate and unreasonable?

“Ruth’s all right,” said Carter, seeing her discomfort.  “She will have more sense when she is older.  She’s just got her little head turned by all the attention she has had since coming home.  There isn’t a boy in the county who wouldn’t make love to her at the drop of her eyelash.  She was the belle of the hop last night; had the boys about her three deep most of the time.”