“I should think,” queried Alice, “you would rather stay in New York than to try the rough life at the West you have been speaking of.”

“Oh, adventure,” says Harry, “I get tired of New York.  And besides I got involved in some operations that I had to see through.  Parties in New York only last week wanted me to go down into Arizona in a big diamond interest.  I told them, no, no speculation for me.  I’ve got my interests in Missouri; and I wouldn’t leave Philip, as long as he stays there.”

When the young gentlemen were on their way back to the hotel, Mr. Philip, who was not in very good humor, broke out,

“What the deuce, Harry, did you go on in that style to the Montagues for?”

“Go on?” cried Harry.  “Why shouldn’t I try to make a pleasant evening?  And besides, ain’t I going to do those things?  What difference does it make about the mood and tense of a mere verb?  Didn’t uncle tell me only last Saturday, that I might as well go down to Arizona and hunt for diamonds?  A fellow might as well make a good impression as a poor one.”

“Nonsense.  You’ll get to believing your own romancing by and by.”

“Well, you’ll see.  When Sellers and I get that appropriation, I’ll show you an establishment in town and another on the Hudson and a box at the opera.”

“Yes, it will be like Col.  Sellers’ plantation at Hawkeye.  Did you ever see that?”

“Now, don’t be cross, Phil.  She’s just superb, that little woman.  You never told me.”

“Who’s just superb?” growled Philip, fancying this turn of the conversation less than the other.

“Well, Mrs. Montague, if you must know.”  And Harry stopped to light a cigar, and then puffed on in silence.  The little quarrel didn’t last over night, for Harry never appeared to cherish any ill-will half a second, and Philip was too sensible to continue a row about nothing; and he had invited Harry to come with him.

The young gentlemen stayed in Fallkill a week, and were every day at the Montagues, and took part in the winter gaieties of the village.  There were parties here and there to which the friends of Ruth and the Montagues were of course invited, and Harry in the generosity of his nature, gave in return a little supper at the hotel, very simple indeed, with dancing in the hall, and some refreshments passed round.  And Philip found the whole thing in the bill when he came to pay it.

Before the week was over Philip thought he had a new light on the character of Ruth.  Her absorption in the small gaieties of the society there surprised him.  He had few opportunities for serious conversation with her.  There was always some butterfly or another flitting about, and when Philip showed by his manner that he was not pleased, Ruth laughed merrily enough and rallied him on his soberness—­she declared he was getting to be grim and unsocial.  He talked indeed more with Alice than with Ruth, and scarcely concealed from her the trouble that was in his mind.  It needed, in fact, no word from him, for she saw clearly enough what was going forward, and knew her sex well enough to know there was no remedy for it but time.