Mrs. Jules Levice was slowly gaining the high-road to recovery, and many
of the restrictions for her cure had been removed. As a consequence,
and with an eye ever to Ruth’s social duties, she urged her to leave her
more and more to herself.
As a matter of course, Ruth had laid the case of Bob and his
neighborhood before her father’s consideration. A Jewish girl’s life is
an open page to her family. Matters of small as well as of larger moment
are freely discussed. The result is that while it robs her of much of
her Christian sister’s spontaneity, which often is the latter’s greatest
charm, it also, through the sagacity of more experienced heads,
guards her against many indiscretions. This may be a relic of European
training, but it enables parents to instil into the minds of their
daughters principles which compare favorable with the American girl’s
native self-reliance. It was as natural for Ruth to consult her father
in this trivial matter, in view of Louis’s disapproval, as it would be
for her friend, Dorothy Gwynne, to sally anywhere so long as she herself
felt justified in so doing.
Ruth really wished to go; and as her father, after considering the
matter, could find no objection, she went. After that it was enough to
tell her mother that she was going to see Bob. Mrs. Levice had heard the
doctor speak of him to Ruth; and any little charity that came in her way
she was only too happy to forward.
Bob’s plain, ungarnished room soon began to show signs of beauty under
Ruth’s deft fingers. A pot of mignonette in the window, a small painting
of exquisite chrysanthemums on the wall, a daily bunch of fresh roses,
were the food she brought for his poet soul. But there were other
substantial things.
The day after she had replaced the coarse horse-blanket with a soft down
quilt, the doctor made one of his bi-weekly visits to her mother.
As he stood taking leave of Ruth on the veranda, he turned, with his
foot on the last step, and looked up at her as if arrested by a sudden
thought.
“Miss Levice,” said he, “I should like to give you a friendly scolding.
May I?”
“How can I prevent you?”
“Well, if I were you I should not indulge Bob’s love of luxury as you
do. He positively refused to get up yesterday on account of the ‘soft
feel,’ as he termed it, of that quilt. Now, you know, he must get up; he
is able to, and in a week I wish to start him in to work again. Then he
won’t be able to afford such ‘soft feels,’ and he will rebel. He has had
enough coddling for his own good. I really think it is mistaken kindness
on your part, Miss Levice.”
The girl was leaning lightly against one of the supporting columns. A
playful smile parted her lips as she listened.
“Dr. Kemp,” she replied, “may I give you a little friendly scolding?”
“You have every right.” His tone was somewhat earnest, despite his
smiling eyes. A man of thirty-five does not resent a friendly scolding
from a winsome young girl.
“Well, don’t you think it is rather hard of you to deprive poor Bob of
any pleasure to-day may bring, on the ground that to-morrow he may wish
it too, and will not be able to have it?”
“As you put it, it does seem so; but I am pugnacious enough to wish
you to see it as practically as I do. Put sentiment aside, and the
only sensible thing to be done now is to prepare him for the hard,
uncushioned facts of an active life.”
“But why must it be so hard for him?”
“Why? In the face of the inevitable, that is a time-wasting, useless
question. Life is so; even if we find its underlying cause, the
discovery will not alter the fact.”
“Yes, it will.”
“How?”
“By its enabling us to turn our backs on the hard way and seek a
softer.”
“You forget that strait-jacket to all inclination,--circumstance.”
“And are you not forgetting that friendly hands may help to remove the
strait-jacket?”
Her lovely face looked very winning, filled with its kindly meaning.
“Thank you,” said he, raising his hat and forgetting to replace it as he
spoke; “that is a gentle truth; some day we shall discuss this further.
For the present, use your power in getting Bob upon his feet.”
“Yes.” She gave a hurried glance at the door behind her, and ran quickly
down to the lowest step. “Dr. Kemp,” said she, a little breathlessly,
“I have wished for some time to ask you to let me know when you have
any cases that require assistance outside of a physician’s,--such as
my father or I might lend. You must have a broad field for such
opportunities. Will you think of me then, please?”
“I will,” he replied, looking with amused pleasure at her flushed face.
“Going in for philanthropy, Miss Levice?”
“No; going out for it, thank you;” and she put her hand into his
outstretched one. She watched him step into his carriage; he turned and
raised his hat again,--a trifling circumstance that Ruth dwelt upon with
pleasure; a second glance always presupposes an interested first.
He did not fail to keep his promise; and once on the lookout for “cases”
herself, Ruth soon found enough irons in the fire to occupy her spare
moments.
Mrs. Levice, however, insisted upon her resuming her place in society.
“A young girl must not withdraw herself from her sphere, or people will
either consider her eccentric or will forget her entirely. Don’t be
unreasonable, Ruth; there is no reason why you should not enjoy every
function in our circle, and Louis is always happy to take you. When
he asked you if you would go with him to the Art Exhibition on Friday
night, I heard you say you did not know. Now why?”
“Oh, that? I never gave it a second’s thought. I promised Father to go
with him in the afternoon; I did not consider it worth an explanation.”
“But, you see, I did. It looks very queer for Louis to be travelling
around by himself; couldn’t you go again in the evening with him?”
“Of course, you over-thoughtful aunt. If the pictures are good, a second
visit will not be thrown away,--that is, if Louis is really anxious for
my companionship. But, ‘I doubt it, I doubt it, I do.’”
“What nonsense!” returned her mother, somewhat testily. “Why shouldn’t
he be? You are always amiable together, are you not?”
“Well,” she said, knitting her brows and pursing her lips drolly, “that,
methinks, depends on the limits and requirements of amiability. If
disputation showeth a friendly spirit, then is my lord overfriendly;
for it oft hath seemed of late to pleasure his mood to wax disputations,
though, in sooth, lady fair, I have always maintained a wary and
decorous demeanor.”
“I can imagine,” laughed her mother, a little anxiously; “then you will
go?”
“Why not?”
If Arnold really cared for the outcome of such manoeuvres, Mrs. Levice’s
exertions bore some fruit.