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 CQD, an SOS 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 business.”
There was a silence at the other end of the wire. Then a voice, with the calm of desperation, said: “Thank you.” There was a pause. “Thank you,” said the voice again in a crushed sort of way, and the receiver was hung up. Ruth went back to Sybil.
The hours passed. How she got through them Ruth hardly knew. Time seemed to have stopped. For the most part they sat in silence. In the afternoon Sybil was allowed to see Bailey for a few minutes. She returned thoughtful. She kissed Ruth before she sat down, and once or twice after that Ruth, looking up, found her eyes fixed upon her. It seemed to Ruth that there was something which she was trying to say, but she asked no questions.
After dinner they sat out on the porch. It was a perfect night. The cool dusk was soothing.
Ruth broke a long silence.
“Sybil!”
“Yes, dear?”
“May I tell you something?”
“Well?”
“I’m afraid it’s bad news.”
Sybil turned quickly.
“You called up the office while I was with Bailey?”
Ruth started.
“How did you know?”
“I guessed. I have been trying to do it all day, but I hadn’t the pluck. Well?”
“I’m afraid things are about as bad as they can be. A Mr. Meadows spoke to me. He was very gloomy. He told me a lot of things which I couldn’t follow, details of what had happened, but I understood all that was necessary, I’m afraid—”
“Bailey’s ruined?” said Sybil quietly.
“Mr. Meadows seemed to think so. He may have exaggerated.”
Sybil shook her head.
“No. Bailey was talking to me upstairs. I expected it.”
There was a long silence.
“Ruth.”
“Yes?”
“I’m afraid—”
Sybil stopped.
“Yes?”
A sudden light of understanding came to Ruth. She knew what it was that Sybil was trying to say, had been trying to say ever since she spoke with Bailey.
“My money has gone, too? Is that it?”
Sybil did not answer. Ruth went quickly to her and took her in her arms.
“You poor baby,” she cried. “Was that what was on your mind, wondering how you should tell me? I knew there was something troubling you.”
Sybil began to sob.
“I didn’t know how to tell you,” she whispered.
Ruth laughed excitedly. She felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders—a weight which had been crushing the life out of her. In the last few days the scales had fallen from her eyes and she had seen clearly.
She realized now what Kirk had realized from the first, that what had forced his life apart from hers had been the golden wedge of her father’s money. It was the burden of wealth that had weighed her down without her knowing it. She felt as if she had been suddenly set free.
“I’m dreadfully sorry,” said Sybil feebly.
Ruth laughed again.
“I’m not,” she said. “If you knew how glad I was you would be congratulating me instead of looking as if you thought I was going to bite you.”
“Glad!”
“Of course I’m glad. Everything’s going to be all right again now. Sybil dear, Kirk and I had the most awful quarrel the other day. We—we actually decided it would be better for us to separate. It was all my fault. I had neglected Kirk, and I had neglected Bill, and Kirk couldn’t stand it any longer. But now that this has happened, don’t you see that it will be all right again? You can’t stand on your dignity when you’re up against real trouble. If this had not happened, neither of us would have had the
