Ruth gave Chess her hand—and he squeezed it warmly. She gave him a frank smile, and Chess seemed comforted.
“Nell’s dreadfully tart with a fellow,” he grumbled. “She’s nothing like she used to be. But you are kind, Ruth.”
“You should not wear your heart on your sleeve,” she told him briskly, as they followed Helen Cameron toward the veranda.
The two girls from the moving picture camp passed a pleasant evening with their New York friends. The Copley girls always managed to gather, Helen declared, “perfectly splendid house parties;” and they had brought with them several companionable girls and young men.
Music and dancing filled the evening, and it was ten o’clock when the two chums from Cheslow sought their motor-boat and set out for the camp on the Chippewa Bay island. Chess Copley had kept by Ruth’s side almost all the evening, and although Helen treated him so cavalierly, she seemed provoked at her chum for paying the young man so much attention.
“I don’t understand what you see in Chess,” she said in a vexed tone to the girl of the Red Mill. “He’s nothing much.”
“He is pleasant, and you used to like him,” said Ruth quietly.
“Humph!” Helen tossed her head. “I found him out. And he’s not to be compared with Tommy-boy.”
“I quite agree with you—that is, considering Tom as a brother,” observed Ruth, and after that refused to be led into further discussion regarding Chess Copley.
It was not often that Ruth and Helen had a disagreement. And this was not really of importance. At least, there was no sign of contention between them in the morning.