“They were such lovely pagans, Ruth, and they dreamed such beautiful dreams of life. Leave the book with me, father; I will take good care of it.”
Then the Judge gave her the book, and with a sigh looked into the modern street. “I ought to be down at Bowling Green instead of reading Greek stories to you girls,” he said rather brusquely. “I have a very important railway case on my mind, and Phoebus Apollo has nothing to do with it. Good morning. And, Ethel, do not deify the singer on the avenue. He will not turn out, like the singer by the portico, to be a god; be sure of that.”
The door closed before she could answer, and both women remained silent a few minutes. Then Ethel went to the window, and Ruth asked if she was going to Dora’s.
“Yes,” was the answer, but without interest.
“You are tired with all this shopping and worry?”
“It is not only that I am tired, I am troubled about Fred Mostyn.”
“Why?”
“I do not know why. It is only a vague unrest as yet. But one thing I know, I shall oppose anything like Fred making himself intimate with Dora.”
“I think you will do wisely in that.”
But in a week Ethel realized that in opposing a lover like Fred Mostyn she had a task beyond her ability. Fred had nothing to do as important in his opinion as the cultivation of his friendship with Dora Denning. He called it “friendship,” but this misnomer deceived no one, not even Dora. And when Dora encouraged his attentions, how was Ethel to prevent them without some explanation which would give a sort of reality to what was as yet a nameless suspicion?