Fibsy, too, devoured her with his eyes, though discreetly, and when he thought he was not observed.
Fleming Stone devoted himself to the sisters; probably, I concluded, because he was in their employ, and so owed them his attention.
Ruth wore her beautiful pearls, and referred to the fact, half-apologetically, saying that Mr. Schuyler had liked always to see them on her, and she felt privileged to continue to use them, even in her mourning period.
"You like only poils—pearls, don't you, Mrs. Schuyler?"
Fibsy's slip of pronunciation was due to his slight embarrassment at his novel surroundings, but he valiantly corrected himself and ignored it.
"I like other gems," Ruth replied, "but Mr. Schuyler preferred pearls, and gave me such beauties that I have grown very fond of them."
"I remember, Ruth," said Sarah, reminiscently, "how you used to beg Randolph for sapphires and diamonds instead. You even wanted semi-precious stones—turquoises and topaz. Oh, I remember. But Randolph taught you that pearls were the best taste for a young matron and you grudgingly acquiesced."
"Oh, not grudgingly, Sarah," and Ruth flushed at the reprimand in her sister's voice.
"Yes, grudgingly. Even unwillingly. In fact, all Randolph's decisions you fought until he made you surrender. You know how you wanted gay-colored gowns until he made you see that grays and mauves were better taste."
"Never mind my peccadilloes," said Ruth, lightly. "Let's talk of something less personal."