Ruth turned to her when the door was closed and started to open her purse and her lips at the same time. Her eyes sparkled; her cheeks were deeply flushed. She looked just as eager and excited as ever quiet, composed Ruth Kenway could look.
“Oh, Aggie!” she quavered.
“Well!” said Agnes, querulously. “I don’t care. He—”
“Never mind Neale O’Neil!” cried Ruth, for a third time, and quite exasperated with her sister.
She closed her purse again and ran across the room. She looked behind the machine. Then she pulled the machine away from the wall so that she could get down on her knees and creep behind it.
“What’s the matter with you, Ruthie?” asked Agnes, finally awakening to her sister’s strange behavior. “What are you looking for?”
“Where—where is it? Where has it gone?” gasped Ruth, still on hands and knees.
“What are you after, Ruth Kenway?” cried Agnes again. “Oh! are you looking for that old scrap-book I found upstairs in the garret?”
“Yes,” answered Ruth, quaveringly.
“Why? Did you see what was in it?” demanded her sister.