"You speak of Arthur"—she began.
"Well?"
"What did you make out of his sermon this morning?"
"Why, Ruth, I—What did you make out of it?"
"I made out that the poor boy is very, very unhappy."
"Did you? Well, he is; and in a certain way I'm to blame for it."
The girl's smile was tender. "Was there ever anything the matter with Arthur, and you didn't think you were in some way to blame for it?"
"Oh, now, don't confuse me with Leonard. Anyhow, I'm to blame this time! Has Isabel told you anything, Ruth?"
"Yes, Isabel has told me!"
"Told you they are engaged?"