This time the shock of surprise which came to Ruth was greater by a
hundred-fold than the first had been. She gave a quick glance at Sybil.
Her small face was hard, and the little white teeth gleamed between her
drawn lips. It was the face, for one brief instant, of a fanatic. The
sight of it affected Ruth extraordinarily. It was as if she had seen a
naked soul where she had never imagined a soul to be.
She had weighed Sybil in the same calm, complacent almost patronizing
fashion in which she had weighed Bailey, Kirk, everybody. She had set
her down as a delightful child, an undeveloped, feather-brained little
thing, pleasant to spend an afternoon with, but not to be taken
seriously by any one as magnificent and superior as Ruth Winfield. And
what manner of a man must Bailey be, Bailey whom she had always looked
on as a dear, but as quite a joke, something to be chaffed and made to
look foolish, if he was capable of inspiring love like this?
A wave of humility swept over her. The pygmies of her world were
springing up as giants, dwarfing her. The pinnacle of superiority on
which she had stood so long was crumbling into dust.
She was finding herself. She winced again as the thought stabbed her
that she was finding herself too late.
They reached the house in silence, each occupied with her own thoughts.
The defiant look had died out of Sybil's face and she was once more a
child, crying because unknown forces had hurt it. But Ruth was not
looking at her now.
She was too busy examining this new world into which she had been
abruptly cast, this world where dolls had souls and jokes lost their
point.
At the cottage good news awaited them. The crisis was past. Bailey was
definitely out of danger. He was still asleep, and sleeping easily. It
had just been an ordinary breakdown, due to worrying and overwork, said
the doctor, the bigger of the doctors, the one who had been summoned
from New York.
'All your husband needs now, Mrs. Bannister, is rest. See that he is
kept quiet. That's all there is to it.'
As if by way of a commentary on his words, a small boy on a bicycle
rode up with a telegram.
Sybil opened it. She read it, and looked at Ruth with large eyes.
'From the office,' she said, handing it to her.
Ruth read it. It was a C. D. Q., an S.O.S. from the front; an appeal
for help from the forefront of the battle. She did not understand the
details of it, but the purport was clear. The battle had begun, and
Bailey was needed. But Bailey lay sleeping in his tent.
She handed it back in silence. There was nothing to be done.
The second telegram arrived half an hour after the first. It differed
from the first only in its greater emphasis. Panic seemed to be growing
in the army of the lost leader.
The ringing of the telephone began almost simultaneously with the
arrival of the second telegram. Ruth went to the receiver. A frantic
voice was inquiring for Mr. Bannister even as she put it to her ear.
'This is Mrs. Winfield speaking,' she said steadily, 'Mr. Bannister's
sister. Mr. Bannister is very ill and cannot possibly attend to any
