It's bad enough in her; but every one knows she is
crazy, and makes allowances. But in a young girl like you."
He choked.
"In a young girl like me," prompted Ruth in a low, tragic voice.
"It--it's not right. It--it's not proper." He drew a long breath. "It's
all wrong. It's got to stop."
"He's perfectly wonderful!" murmured Ruth. "He just opens his mouth and
the words come out. But I knew he was somebody, directly I saw him, by
his forehead. Like a dome!" Bailey mopped the dome.
"Perhaps you don't know it," he said, "but you're getting yourself
talked about. You go about saying perfectly impossible things to
people. You won't marry. You have refused nearly every friend I have."
Ruth shuddered.
"Your friends are awful, Bailey. They are all turned out on a pattern,
like a flock of sheep. They bleat. They have all got little, narrow
faces without chins or big, fat faces without foreheads. Ugh!"
"None of them good enough for you, is that it?"
"Not nearly."
Emotion rendered Bailey--for him--almost vulgar.
"I guess you hate yourself!" he snapped.
"No _sir_" beamed Ruth. "I think I'm perfectly beautiful."
Bailey grunted. Ruth came to him and gave him a sisterly kiss. She was
very fond of Bailey, though she declined to reverence him.
"Cheer up, Bailey boy," she said. "Don't you worry yourself.
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