The prospect of living
alone in the old homestead failed to appal her.
"A letter came this morning," said Mrs. Nelson, tracing the crest on
the silver creamer. "It's from your Aunt Elizabeth. She wants us to
spend ten days with her at the shore. They have taken a handsome
cottage next to the Warrentons. You remember young Mr. Warrenton,
Ruth? He is a grandson of Commodore Warrenton."
"Warrenton? Oh, yes, I do remember him--the one that didn't have any
neck."
Mrs. Nelson closed her eyes for a moment, as if praying for patience;
then she went on: "Your Aunt Elizabeth thinks, as I do, that it is
absurd for you to bury yourself down here. She wants you to meet
people of your own class. Do you think you can be ready to start on
Wednesday?"
"Why, we have been here only a week!" cried Ruth. "I am having such a
good time, and--" she broke off impulsively. "But I know it's dull for
you, Aunt Clara. You go, and leave me here with Carter. I'll do
everything you say if you will only let me stay."
Carter laughed. "One would think that Ruth's sole aim in life was to
cultivate Clayton--the distinguished, exclusive, aristocratic society
of Clayton."
She put her hand on his arm and looked at him pleadingly: "Please
don't laugh at me, Carter! I love it here, and I want to stay.
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