The Secret and the Dream

Ruth easily became accustomed to the quiet life at Miss Ainslie's, and
gradually lost all desire to go back to the city. "You're spoiling me,"
she said, one day. "I don't want to go back to town, I don't want to
work, I don't want to do anything but sit still and look at you. I
didn't know I was so lazy."

"You're not lazy, dear," answered Miss Ainslie, "you were tired, and you
didn't know how tired you were."

Winfield practically lived there. In the morning, he sat in the garden,
reading the paper, while Ruth helped about the house. She insisted
upon learning to cook, and he ate many an unfamiliar dish, heroically
proclaiming that it was good. "You must never doubt his love," Miss
Ainslie said, "for those biscuits--well, dear, you know they were--were
not just right."

The amateur cook laughed outright at the gentle criticism. "They were
awful," she admitted, "but I'm going to keep at it until I learn how."

The upper part of the house was divided into four rooms, with windows on
all sides. One of the front rooms, with north and east windows, was Miss
Ainslie's, while the one just back of it, with south and east windows,
was a sitting-room.

"I keep my prettiest things up here, dear," she explained to Ruth, "for
I don't want people to think I'm crazy." Ruth caught her breath as she
entered the room, for rare tapestries hung on the walls and priceless
rugs lay on the floor. The furniture, like that downstairs, was colonial
mahogany, highly polished, with here and there a chair or table of
foreign workmanship. There was a cabinet, filled with rare china, a
marquetry table, and a chair of teakwood, inlaid with mother of pearl.
In one corner of the room was a large chest of sandal wood, inlaid with
pearl and partly covered by a wonderful antique rug.