Within the tent they were having talk that would seem to amount to very little.  Even Eurie appeared to be subdued, and to have almost nothing to say.  Ruth was roused from the half stupor of astonishment into which Marion’s unexpected words had thrown her by hearing Flossy say, “Oh, Ruth, I forgot to tell you something; Mrs. Smythe stopped at the door on Saturday evening before you came home; her party leave for Saratoga to-morrow morning, and she wanted to know whether any of us would go with them.”

“Did you tell her I was going?” Ruth asked, quickly.  It was utterly distasteful to her to think of having Mrs. Smythe’s company.  She did not stop to analyze her feelings; she simply shrank from contact with Mrs. Smythe and from others who were sure to be of her stamp.

“No,” Flossy said, “I did not know what you had decided upon; I said it was possible that you might want to go, but some one joined us just then and the conversation changed:  I did not think of it again.”

“I am glad you didn’t,” Ruth said, emphatically.  “I don’t want her society.  I won’t go in the morning if I am to be bored with that party; I would rather wait a week.”

“They are going in the morning train,” Eurie said; “I heard that tall man who sometimes leads the singing say so.  He said there was quite a little party to go, among them a party from Clyde, who were en route for Saratoga.  That is them, you know; nearly all of them are from Clyde.  ‘Oh, yes,’ the other man said; ’we must expect that.  Of course there is a froth to all these things that must evaporate toward Saratoga, or some other resort.  There is a class of mind that Chautauqua is too much for.’  Think of that, Ruthie, to be considered nothing but froth that is to evaporate!”

“Nonsense!” Ruth said, sharply.  She seemed to consider that an unanswerable argument, and in a sense it is.  Nevertheless Eurie’s words had their effect; she began to wish that letter unwritten, and to wish that she had not said so much about Saratoga, and to wish that there was some quiet way of changing her plans.

In fact, an utter distaste for Saratoga seemed suddenly to have come upon her.  Conversation palled after this; Marion came in, and the four made ready for the night in almost absolute silence.  The next thing that occurred was sufficiently startling in its nature to arouse them all.  It was one of those sudden, careless movements that this life of ours is full of, taking only a moment of time, and involving consequences that reached away beyond time, and death, and resurrection.

“Eurie,” Ruth had said, “where is your head ache bottle that you boast so much of?  I believe I am going to have a sick headache.”

“In my satchel,” Eurie answered, sleepily.  She was already in bed.  “There is a spoon on that box in the corner; take a tea-spoonful.”  Another minute of silence, then Eurie suddenly raised her head from the pillow and looked about her wildly.  The dim light of the lamp showed Ruth, slowly pulling the pins from her hair.