Chapter XXVII
I thought you would be quiet at this hour," said Rose Delano, seating
herself opposite her friend in the library, the Thursday evening after the
funeral. They looked so different even in the waning light, --Ruth in soft
black, her white face shining like a lily above her sombre gown, Rose, like
a bright firefly, perched on a cricket, her cheeks rosy, her eyes sparkling
from walking against the sharp, cold wind.
"We are always quiet now," she answered softly; "friends come and go, but
we are very quiet. It does me good to see you, Rosebud."
"Does it?" her sweet eyes smiled happily. "I was longing to drop in if
only to hold your hand for a minute; but I did not know exactly where to
find you."
"Why, where could I be but here?"
"I thought possibly you had removed to your husband's home."
For a second Ruth looked at her wonderingly; then the slow rich color
mounted, inch by inch, back to her little ears till her face was one rosy
cloud.
"No; I have stayed right on."
"I saw the doctor to-day," she chatted. "He looks pale; is he too busy?"
"I do not know, --that is, I suppose so. How are the lessons, Rose?"
"Everything is improving wonderfully; I am so happy, dear Mrs. Kemp, and
what I wished to say was that all happiness and all blessings should, I
pray, fall on you two who have been so much to me.
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