opened the door for her mother.
“Ah, Jennie, how are your, dear? But let us inspect this box which Nora has just handed me, before we consider you;” and Mrs. Levice softly deposited a huge box upon Ruth’s lace-enveloped bed.
She was still bonneted and gloved, and with a slight flush in her clear olive cheek she looked like anything but a subject for fears. From the crown of her dainty bonnet to the point of her boot she was the picture of exquisite refinement; tall, beautifully formed, carrying her head like a queen, gowned in perfect, quiet elegance, she appeared more like Ruth’s older sister than her mother.
“Ruth’s gown for this evening,” she announced, deftly unfolding the wrappings.
“Yellow!” exclaimed Mrs. Lewis, in surprise.
“Corn-color,” corrected Mrs. Levice, playfully; “how do you think it will suit my girlie?” She continued, shaking out the clinging silken crepe.
“Charmingly; but I thought Ruth objected to anything but white.”
“So she does; she thinks white keeps her unnoticed among the rest. This time, however, my will overrode hers. Eh, Daughter?”
The girl made a low courtesy.
“I am only lady-in-waiting to your Majesty, O Queen,” she laughed. She had hardly glanced at the gown, being engaged in a silent scrutiny of her mother’s face.
“And how is my prime minister this afternoon?” Mrs. Levice was drawing off her gloves, and Ruth’s look of pained discovery passed unnoticed.
“I have not been down since luncheon,” she replied.
“What! Then go down at once and bring him up. I must see that he gets out of his studiousness and is clothed in festive mind for this evening. Come to my sitting-room, Jennie, and we can have a comfortable chat.”
Left to herself, Ruth hesitated before going to her father with her ill-boding tidings. None knew better than she of the great, silent love that bound her parents. As a quiet, observant child, she had often questioned wherein could be any sympathy between her father, almost
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