A certain placid strength possessed her and showed in her grave brown eyes; with her whole heart and soul she wished to do this thing, and she longed to do it well. Her purpose robbed her of every trace of nervousness; and it was a sweet-faced young woman who gently knocked at room Number 10 on the second floor of a respectable lodging-house on Polk Street.
Receiving no answer to her knock, she repeated it somewhat more loudly. At this a tired voice called, “Come in.”
She turned the knob, which yielded to her touch, and found herself in a small, well-lighted, and neat room. Seated in an armchair near the window, but with her back toward it, was what on first view appeared to be a golden-haired child in black; one elbow rested on the arm of the chair, and a childish hand supported the flower-like head. As Ruth hesitated after closing the door behind her, she found a pair of listless violet eyes regarding her from a small white face.
“Well?” queried the girl, without changing her position except to allow her gaze to travel to the floor.
“You are Miss Rose Delano?” said Ruth, as she came a step nearer.
“What of that?” Asked the girl, lifelessly, her dull eyes wandering everywhere but to the face of her strange interlocutor.
“I am Ruth Levice, a friend of Dr. Kemp. Will that introduction be enough to make you shake hands with me?”
She advanced toward her, holding out her hand. A burning flame shot across Rose Delano’s face, and she shrank farther back among her pillows.
“No,” she said, putting up a repellent hand; “it is not enough. Do not touch me, or you will regret it. You must not, I say.” She arose quickly from her chair and stood at bay, regarding Ruth. The latter, taller than she by head and shoulders, looked down at her smiling.
“I know no reason why I must not,” she replied gently.