But he was a peddler, you
know--an Irish peddler; came here three or four years ago with a pack
on his back."
"And Ruth danced with him!" Mrs. Nelson's words were punctuated with
horror.
Ruth looked up with blazing eyes. "Yes, I danced with him; why
shouldn't I? You made me dance with Mr. Warrenton, last summer, when I
told you he was drinking."
"But, my dear child, you forget who Mr. Warrenton is. And you actually
danced with a peddler!" Her voice grew faint. "My dear, this must
never occur again. You are young and easily imposed upon. I will
accompany you everywhere in the future. Of course you need never
recognize him hereafter. The impertinence of his addressing you!"
A step sounded on the gravel outside. Ruth ran to the window and spoke
to some one below. "I'll be there as soon as I change my habit," she
called.
"Who is it?" asked her aunt, hastily arranging her disturbed locks.
Ruth paused at the door. There was a slight tremor about her lips,
but her eyes flashed their first open declaration of independence.
"It's Mr. Kilday," she said; "we are going out on the river."
There was an oppressive silence of ten minutes after she left, during
which Carter smiled behind his paper and Mrs. Nelson gazed indignantly
at the tea-pot.
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