"She has lost her sense of fun—that's the worst part of the whole business!" exclaimed Erskine, one night when Christina had gone early to bed, as she always would now. "She has ceased to be amusing or easily amused. The empty town is boring her to the bone, and if I don't fix up our Lisbon trip we shall have her wanting to go back to Australia. However, I am bound to be in Lisbon by the end of next month, and I'm keener than ever on having you two with me. I know the ropes out there, and I could promise you both a good time—but that depends on Tiny. Let us hope the bay will blow the cobwebs out of her head; she wasn't made to be sentimental. I only wish I could get her to jeer at things as she used before we went to Essingham and while we were there!"
"Don't you think it's rather a good thing she has dropped that?" Ruth asked. "She had no respect for anything in those days."
"And her humor saved her! Pray what does she respect now?"
"Two or three people that I know of—my lord and master for one, and another person who is only a lord."
"Look here, Ruth, I don't believe it," cried Erskine, who by this time was pacing his study floor. "Why, she hasn't set eyes on him since the day she refused him—with variations."
"I know—but she's had time to reflect."
"Then I hope and pray she may never have the opportunity to recant!"
"Well, I won't deny that I hope differently," replied Ruth quietly; "but I've no reason to suppose there's any chance of it; and whatever happens, Erskine, you needn't be afraid of my—of my meddling any more."
"My dear girl, I know that," said he cordially enough; "but of course you tell her you're sorry for this, and you wish that. It's only natural that you should."
"Ah, I daren't say as much to her as you think," said Ruth, with a nod and a smile, for she was glad to know more than he did, here and there. "You needn't be afraid of me; I have little enough influence over her. She has only once opened her heart to me—once, and that's all."