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<h2> Chapter VII </h2> Mrs. Jules Levice was slowly gaining the high-road to recovery, and many of the restrictions for her cure had been removed. As a consequence, and with an eye ever to Ruth's social duties, she urged her to leave her more and more to herself. As a matter of course, Ruth had laid the case of Bob and his neighborhood before her father's consideration. A Jewish girl's life is an open page to her family. Matters of small as well as of larger moment are freely discussed. The result is that while it robs her of much of her Christian sister's spontaneity, which often is the latter's greatest charm, it also, through the sagacity of more experienced heads, guards her against many indiscretions. This may be a relic of European training, but it enables parents to instil into the minds of their daughters principles which compare favorable with the American girl's native self-reliance. It was as natural for Ruth to consult her father in this trivial matter, in view of Louis's disapproval, as it would be for her friend, Dorothy Gwynne, to sally anywhere so long as she herself felt justified in so doing. Ruth really wished to go; and as her father, after considering the matter, could find no objection, she went. After that it was enough to tell her mother that she was going to see Bob. Mrs. Levice had heard the doctor speak of him to Ruth; and any little charity that came in her way she was only too happy to forward. Bob's plain, ungarnished room soon began to show signs of beauty under Ruth's deft fingers. A pot of mignonette in the window, a small painting of exquisite chrysanthemums on the wall, a daily bunch of fresh roses, were the food she brought for his poet soul. But there were other substantial things. The day after she had replaced the coarse horse-blanket with a soft down quilt, the doctor made one of his bi-weekly visits to her mother. As he stood taking leave of Ruth on the veranda, he turned, with his foot on the last step, and looked up at her as if arrested by a sudden thought. "Miss Levice," said he, "I should like to give you a friendly scolding. May I?" "How can I prevent you?" "Well, if I were you I should not indulge Bob's love of luxury as you do. He positively refused to get up yesterday on account of the 'soft feel,' as he termed it, of that quilt. Now, you know, he must get up; he is able to, and in a week I wish to start him in to work again. Then he won't be able to afford such 'soft feels,' and he will rebel. He has had enough coddling for his own good. I really think it is mistaken kindness on your part, Miss Levice." The girl was leaning lightly against one of the supporting columns. A playful smile parted her lips as she listened. "Dr. Kemp," she replied, "may I give you a little friendly scolding?" "You have every right." His tone was somewhat earnest, despite his smiling eyes. A man of thirty-five does not resent a friendly scolding from a winsome young girl. "Well, don't you think it is rather hard of you to deprive poor Bob of any pleasure to-day may bring, on the ground that to-morrow he may wish it too, and will not be able to have it?" "As you put it, it does seem so; but I am pugnacious enough to wish you to see it as practically as I do. Put sentiment aside, and the only sensible thing to be done now is to prepare him for the hard, uncushioned facts of an active life." "But why must it be so hard for him?" "Why? In the face of the inevitable, that is a time-wasting, useless question. Life is so; even if we find its underlying cause, the discovery will not alter the fact." "Yes, it will." "How?" "By its enabling us to turn our backs on the hard way and seek a softer." "You forget that strait-jacket to all inclination,—circumstance." "And are you not forgetting that friendly hands may help to remove the strait-jacket?" Her lovely face looked very winning, filled with its kindly meaning. "Thank you," said he, raising his hat and forgetting to replace it as he spoke; "that is a gentle truth; some day we shall discuss this further. For the present, use your power in getting Bob upon his feet." "Yes." She gave a hurried glance at the door behind her, and ran quickly down to the lowest step. "Dr. Kemp," said she, a little breathlessly, "I have wished for some time to ask you to let me know when you have any cases that require assistance outside of a physician's,—such as my father or I might lend. You must have a broad field for such opportunities. Will you think of me then, please?" "I will," he replied, looking with amused pleasure at her flushed face. "Going in for philanthropy, Miss Levice?" "No; going out for it, thank you;" and she put her hand into his outstretched one. She watched him step into his carriage; he turned and raised his hat again,—a trifling circumstance that Ruth dwelt upon with pleasure; a second glance always presupposes an interested first. He did not fail to keep his promise; and once on the lookout for "cases" herself, Ruth soon found enough irons in the fire to occupy her spare moments. Mrs. Levice, however, insisted upon her resuming her place in society. "A young girl must not withdraw herself from her sphere, or people will either consider her eccentric or will forget her entirely. Don't be unreasonable, Ruth; there is no reason why you should not enjoy every function in our circle, and Louis is always happy to take you. When he asked you if you would go with him to the Art Exhibition on Friday night, I heard you say you did not know. Now why?" "Oh, that? I never gave it a second's thought. I promised Father to go with him in the afternoon; I did not consider it worth an explanation." "But, you see, I did. It looks very queer for Louis to be travelling around by himself; couldn't you go again in the evening with him?" "Of course, you over-thoughtful aunt. If the pictures are good, a second visit will not be thrown away,—that is, if Louis is really anxious for my companionship. But, 'I doubt it, I doubt it, I do.'" "What nonsense!" returned her mother, somewhat testily. "Why shouldn't he be? You are always amiable together, are you not?" "Well," she said, knitting her brows and pursing her lips drolly, "that, methinks, depends on the limits and requirements of amiability. If disputation showeth a friendly spirit, then is my lord overfriendly; for it oft hath seemed of late to pleasure his mood to wax disputations, though, in sooth, lady fair, I have always maintained a wary and decorous demeanor." "I can imagine," laughed her mother, a little anxiously; "then you will go?" "Why not?" If Arnold really cared for the outcome of such manoeuvres, Mrs. Levice's exertions bore some fruit. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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