“As if Jack and I wouldn’t have waited over another day!” exclaimed Graham in a tone of disgust. “We’d rather have waited a week, than have you put yourself through like this,” He smoothed her ruffled hair with awkward tenderness, and Amy, carried away by her emotions, fanned so vehemently that she tapped the patient on the nose, and was sharply reprimanded.
The tears Ruth had been holding back all the morning could no longer be restrained. They overran her trembling lids, and streamed down her cheeks. The little murmurs of soothing sympathy were redoubled, though Graham walked off quickly to the window and stood looking out with a stern, fixed gaze, as if the landscape had suddenly become of absorbing interest. But Ruth’s tears were not wrung from her by suffering. They were tears of penitence and honest shame. How dear and kind every one was! How cruelly she had misjudged the world when she had called it inconsiderate. And the course of conduct which in the morning had seemed to her admirable and heroic, suddenly appeared foolish in the extreme. The faint tinge of color showing in her white cheeks was not an indication of returning strength so much as of mortification.
The departure of Jack and Graham was immediately put off till Ruth should be well enough to take part in the fun which was to serve as a climax to the visit. For the remainder of the day, Ruth found herself the centre of attraction in Dolittle Cottage. She lay at ease on the couch, with wet compresses on her forehead. The shutters were closed to keep out the sunshine. Every one walked on tiptoe, and spoke in subdued accents. Even the fly-away Dorothy sought the invalid at frequent intervals to murmur, “Poor Rufie! Poor Rufie,” and to pat Ruth’s arm with a sympathetic little hand. Now that it had gained its point, the headache decreased in severity, but had the pain been far more violent, Ruth would have minded it less than sundry pangs of conscience which would not allow her to forget that she really was undeserving of all this tender consideration.
By the end of the afternoon she was able to sit up and to share in the general excitement which welcomed Amy on her return from the village. Several days before, Amy had carried down a roll of films to be developed at the local photographer’s, and was now bringing back a neat little package of prints. “Oh, the flash-light picture is here, isn’t it?” exclaimed Ruth, to whose chair the package had been brought immediately, while the others stood around awaiting their turn. “I want to see that first.”
Amy looked a trifle discomfited.
“Yes, it’s here,” she replied. “But the photographer said if I wanted to be a success I’d have to learn to flatter people more. He said that he learned that long ago.”
The flash-light picture was certainly far from flattering. The brilliant light had caused every pair of eyes to roll heavenward, till only the whites were visible, so that the group looked not unlike a company of inmates of a blind asylum, posing for a photograph. But the missing eyes were not the only startling features of this remarkable picture. Several mouths were open to their widest extent, and except for the face of Jack Rynson, who was a young man with an unusual capacity for self-control, every countenance was convulsed by an agitation whose exciting cause was left to the imagination of the beholder.
Ruth laughed over the flash-light picture till she cried, and declared that it had almost cured her headache. When Graham helped her up the stairs that night, she startled him by leaning up against him to laugh again. “I was thinking of Claire’s picture in the flash-light,” she explained, as her brother looked down at her anxiously. “Poor Claire! I’m afraid she felt more like crying than laughing.”
“’Tisn’t every girl that’s as plucky as my little sister,” said Graham, tightening his clasp about her. Ruth’s laughter ended abruptly. “Oh, don’t, Graham,” she pleaded, as if distressed by his praise. “If you only knew–” And there she stopped. It was quite enough for Ruth Wylie to know the true inwardness of that day; a day, Ruth was certain, that would never, never be duplicated in her experience.