"I wonder if you really would like him," said Ruth, who no longer cared for the sound of Lord Manister's name. "I don't remember much about him, except that we all thought a good deal of him; but somehow I don't fancy he's your sort."
"I wasn't aware that I had a sort," Erskine said, smiling.
"Oh, but you have. I am not your sort. But Tiny was!"
He laughed heartily.
"Then we four have chosen sides most excellently! It is quite fatal to marry your own sort. Didn't you know that, my dear?"
"No, I didn't," said Ruth, watching him from the sofa; "but I am very glad to hear it, and I quite agree. You and Tiny, for instance, would have jeered at everything in life until you were left jeering at one another. Don't you think so?" she added wistfully, after a pause.
"I think you're an uncommonly shrewd little person," Erskine remarked, smiling down upon her kindly, so that her face shone with pleasure.
"Do you?" she said, as he helped her to rise. "You used to think me so dense when Tiny was here; and I dare say I was—beside Tiny."
"My dearest girl," said Erskine, taking his wife in his arms, and speaking in a troubled tone, "you have never said that sort of thing before, and I hope you never will again. Tiny was Tiny—our Tiny—but surely wisdom was not her strongest point? She amused us all because she wasn't quite like other people; but how often am I to tell you that I am thankful you are not like Tiny?"
"Ah, if you really were!" Ruth whispered on his shoulder.