Susan Lenox: Her Fall and Rise, by David Graham Phillips

CHAPTER IINOT quite seventeen years later, on a fine June morning, RuthWarham issued hastily from the house and started down the longtanbark walk from the front veranda to the street gate. She wasnow nineteen–nearer twenty–and a very pretty young woman,indeed. She had grown up one of those small slender blondes,exquisite and doll-like, who cannot help seeming fresh and sweet,whatever the truth about them, without or within. This morning shehad on a new summer dress of a blue that matched her eyes andharmonized with her coloring. She was looking her best, and shehad the satisfying, confidence-giving sense that it was so. Likemost of the unattached girls of small towns, she was alwaysdreaming of the handsome stranger who would fall in love–thethrilling, love-story kind of love at first sight. The weather plays aconspicuous part in the romancings of youth; she felt that this wasprecisely the kind of day fate would be most likely to select for themeeting. Just before dressing she had been reading about thewonderful »him«–in Robert Chambers' latest story–and she hadspent full fifteen minutes of blissful reverie over the accompanyingFisher illustration. Now she was issuing hopefully forth, ashopefully as if adventure were the rule and order of life inSutherland, instead of a desperate monotony made the harder tobear by the glory of its scenery.She had got only far enough from the house to be visible to thesecond-story windows when a young voice called:"Ruthie! Aren't you going to wait for me?"Ruth halted; an expression anything but harmonious with thepretty blue costume stormed across her face. "I won't have heralong!" she muttered. "I simply won't!" She turned slowly and, asshe turned, effaced every trace of temper with a dexterity whichmight have given an onlooker a poorer opinion of her characterthan perhaps the facts as to human nature justify. Thecountenance she presently revealed to those upper windows wassunny and sweet. No one was visible; but the horizontal slats inone of the only closed pair of shutters and a vague suggestion ofmovement rather than form behind them gave the impression thata woman, not far enough dressed to risk being seen from thestreet, was hidden there. Evidently Ruth knew, for it was towardthis window that she directed her gaze and the remark: "Can't wait,dear. I'm in a great hurry. Mamma wants the silk right away andI've got to match it.""But I'll be only a minute," pleaded the voice–a much moreinteresting, more musical voice than Ruth's rather shrill and thinhigh soprano."No–I'll meet you up at papa's store.""All right."Ruth resumed her journey. She smiled to herself. "That means,"said she, half aloud, "I'll steer clear of the store this morning."But as she was leaving the gate into the wide, shady, sleepystreet, who should come driving past in a village cart but LottieWright! And Lottie reined her pony in to the sidewalk and in theshade of a symmetrical walnut tree proceeded to invite Ruth to adance–a long story, as Lottie had to tell all about it, thedecorations, the favors, the food, who would be there, what shewas going to wear, and so on and on. Ruth was intenselyinterested but kept remembering something that caused her toglance uneasily from time to time up the tanbark walk under thearching boughs toward the house. Even if she had not beeninterested, she would hardly have ventured to break off; LottieWright was the only daughter of the richest man in Sutherland and,therefore, social arbiter to the younger set.Lottie stopped abruptly, said: "Well, I really must get on. Andthere's your cousin coming down the walk. I know you've beenwaiting for her."Ruth tried to keep in countenance, but a blush of shame and afrown of irritation came in spite of her."I'm sorry I can't ask Susie, too," pursued Lottie, in a voice ofhypocritical regret. "But there are to be exactly eighteen couples–and I couldn't.""Of course not," said Ruth heartily. "Susan'll understand.""I wouldn't for the world do anything to hurt her feelings,"